


Divinity and Jealousy

by JadeJinx



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Dominant Aziraphale (Good Omens), Falling In Love, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Historical References, Idiots in Love, Jealous Aziraphale (Good Omens), Porn with Feelings, Possessive Behavior, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Submissive Crowley (Good Omens), Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Torture, Trauma, Violence, happy ending eventually, non suicidal self harm, working through trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2020-11-24 07:10:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 33,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20903678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadeJinx/pseuds/JadeJinx
Summary: Divine love is possessive, obsessive, and righteous. It is imperious and domineering. Aziraphale loves divinely, and he loves his demon above all else.Essentially, an au where Angels are very much dom tops and demons are mostly bottoms or service tops. It's written even into their temptations, 'let me give you what you want'. This is a very kinky au. Sex is heavily featured in later chapters. It focuses mostly on Crowley and Aziraphale but there may be other pairings in the background. It will follow their 6000 years up to and after the apocanot but I'm not afraid to throw canon out the window to serve my needs. I really just love the idea of demons being really selfless partners in bed while angels tell you exactly what you need and give it to you.Told from the perspective of both Aziraphale and Crowley.





	1. Beginnings - Raphael

**Author's Note:**

> So long story short, this au is an excuse to get all my slightly fucked up and dark fantasies out with Aziraphale topping. I do have some ideas for a Crowley top au or series of shorts but that will come later maybe. Please note that tags may change in the future as I add in the actual scenes of sex. There will be some bad BDSM etiquette, this is a fantasy and not something that should be done without safewords and stopgaps in place. This is however, a more fleshed out world I am going to try to work in. It will be more fleshed out as I go. The first few chapters are more world building and establishing some basic knowledge of the world I'll be playing with.
> 
> Please let me know what you think.

Divine love is obsessive, possessive, and righteous. It is imperious and domineering in its love. They will take care of you wholly. They will do what is best for you.

Before the fall, angels were split somewhat evenly between divine love and something different, something considered strange. A love that is self sacrificing, and giving, submissive yet supportive. A love that would seem to reflect divine love nicely.

One would think this would be perfect, a balancing act for the pairs that would be formed. Yet those with so called divine love often mocked the angels who loved differently, called them weak and strange. Unfit to be anything but the lowest ranks of angels. 

As time wore on, as best it can in a place where time did not yet exist, this treatment lead to resentment among some angels. This resentment, coupled with the unhappiness and questioning of others, were the foundations of the great rebellion. Lucifer loved divinely, but his pride could not stand being second to the humans. He lead the rebellion, charming others into his thinking. Most angels who did not love divinely fell, those who did not, hid their form of loving.

We begin our story with Raphael, an archangel with hair of fire and eyes of molten gold. He does not love divinely, there was once a word for the love he had but that word was ripped from us when the fallen fell. One might describe this love as submissive, selfless, devoted, or even indulgent. Here we will use the word adoring, a term that much better conveys the sense of worship that comes with Raphael’s love specifically. 

Raphael was the creation and healing archangel, placed in charge of the creation department. In the beginning there were five departments to go with the five archangels. Lucifer was the archangel of light and music, Michael was the archangel of war and honor, Gabriel was the archangel of messages and peace (Later the guardian of humanity), and Uriel the archangel of wisdom and scripture. 

While Raphael hung the stars and grew the plants that would one day populate the earth, Lucifer wove music and light into being. They worked together to create the stars. Meanwhile, Michael trained and honed the warriors of heaven, including a principality that will come into our story a little later. Gabriel readied the trumpeters and set to making efficient systems of communications to carry the word of God. Uriel spent their time preparing their subordinates to pass the wisdom of God to man by lecturing and studying with them. 

All was good in heaven for a time. This would not last forever.

Raphael spent most of his time helping to build star systems, nebulae, and galaxies in the early days, but as time grew nearer to the creation of earth he found himself in Heaven’s greenhouses growing lovely plants. Flowers bloomed under his fingers with joy at his presence, their petals clinging to his form as he moved away. 

It is in one such greenhouse that we find Raphael and Lucifer huddled together in a corner. Lucifer is angry and loud, gesticulating wildly in frustration. Raphael is attempting to placate and soothe his fellow angel. He offers soothing touches and soft words but the other shrugs him off in anger. In his frustration Lucifer points accusingly at Raphael, hurls hurtful words at him and tells him he is allowing others to push him about and abuse his kindness. 

The scene shifts and we see Raphael consoling a small group of angels, they cry out about the injustice of being treated as lesser for ‘loving the wrong way’. He pets them and soothes but the anger is visible in the way he holds himself. 

The scene jumps again, Raphael is pushing through a large crowd. He is moving away from where Lucifer is standing and speaking. The crowd is frenzied and passionate, the angels we saw being consoled by Raphael are there, fury coats them like tar. Raphael breaks away and disappears to another area of heaven.

Raphael is in front of God’s office, shouting questions at her door and wanting answers. He kicks and bangs on the doors alternately pleading and demanding. Tears stream down his face and he feels her heavenly rebuke as he sinks to his knees in despair. He begs her once more and feeling the sharpness of her displeasure curls up into a ball in front of her divine door. 

There is a war, Lucifer leads the rebelling angels against heaven. Raphael is healing anyone who is injured on either side. He watches one of the angels he knows well, one he had had a fondness for, as they are obliterated. He sinks to his knees and screams out. He questions aloud his mother. He calls out to her ‘God why?’ 

Lucifer falls. Many follow. Raphael feels the burning sulphur in his wings and his grace being ripped from him as he plummets. He feels hollow and empty but calls out, half expecting someone to catch him.

Crawly awakens, everything is agony. There is nothing in his form that does not ache. Every breath, every movement, every single subtle shift is met with agony and suffering. 

“Get up there and make some trouble.” His once comrade says to him. Satan himself sends Crawly off. Barely sparing him a glance before moving on to his next task in organizing hell into his perfect kingdom. 

In the Garden

Crawly burrows up and out onto the soft soil of the earth, and for a moment he is stunned. Sunlight filters in through a verdant canopy of leaves and branches, it warms his scales and reminds him of memories too hazy to focus on. The scents hit him all at once and he is nearly overwhelmed by their sweetness. Colours are everywhere, vibrant and beautiful. He finds himself dallying, sunning his serpentine body on a large rock, curling up under a lovely bloom he created. He does not wish to disrupt the peace of the garden just yet. He finds any distraction to prolong it before, finally, he meets Eve. 

He likes her, he thinks, reminds him of himself. So curious and sweet, wanting to know everything about everything. He answers some of her questions with only hints of what she wants. It isn’t hard to lead her one day to the tree of forbidden fruit and offer her everything she wants to know. He doesn’t know how she will be punished, but wonders if it will be nearly as bad as his own punishment for questioning. The thought has him hesitating, but it is too late. Eve has eaten of the fruit and her eyes shine with knowledge. She shares the bounty with Adam and they hurtle from God’s graces.

He makes his way up the wall, entirely unsure why he plans to speak to the angel. Part of him hopes for a companion in misery, part of him hopes to be smited, and another smaller part of him hopes for kindness.


	2. Beginnings - Aziraphale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this Aziraphale isn't too far out of whack. I tried to bring some of him into this characterization as best I could but I'll be able to better blend them in later chapters.

We begin our story with Aziraphale. A principality with starlight hair and electric blue eyes that recall the cloudless sky on sun warmed days. He loves divinely, mayhaps a touch detachedly where the general love of his fellow angels is concerned. He loves Michael as his superior in an exalting way, much like his love for the almighty. They are his superiors, they want what is best for him, in turn he offers deference and protection where possible. His platoon of subordinates on the other hand, he loves more personally. He loves them and considers them his charges. He is their commander and wants what is best for them. They will obey and offer deference. 

He trains diligently, he trains his platoon unceasingly. He was created for this and takes to it with great ardour. The sword feels good in his hand, a proper weapon to defend his loved ones. He learns all fighting styles despite his fondness for the sword. Learns to fight with spears and whips and even throwing daggers. He does not question why he should learn these things when angels only own swords and other weapons must always be returned at the end of training. Only knows that they feel good in his hands. His hands, he thinks, where made to hold fire and sharpness. They are rough and calloused from training, large and meaty to wrap around the handle of death.

When he is given his corporation he delights in its softness. The softness that hides coiled steel strength of an angel built for war. He delights in how it feels cozy and inviting, how it softens the harsh edges of his spiritual form. Others seem more receptive to him, regard him with less apprehension. He enjoys how this form lends itself to his favorite styles of fighting, lower center of gravity and heft for closer quarters brawling. He spends the first few not-really-hours putting his corporation through every single training exercise he can think of and delights in its ability and limitations compared to a purely spiritual form.

Before the revolt he knows little of angels outside of the armies of God. He meets very few and speaks to even less on the rare occasion where he must venture out toward other areas of heaven for errands and paperwork. He is not even aware of the rebellion brewing until the horns of war blew. 

He leads his platoon fearlessly, burying his despair in striking down his brothers. He feels the wet resistance of their corporations give way to the unyielding steel of his sword. One of the rebels tries to tackle him and they fall to the ground brawling. He underestimates Aziraphales raw strength and soon enough the starlight haired angel has the other pinned in a vice-like grip. He rains down blows upon the other without seeing, apologies locked behind his lips to keep them from tumbling out. He loves his fellow angels, he never wished to hurt them, only wished the best for them. If only they could see how wrong they are to defy him and heaven. He buries the traitorous thought that asks what they could have possibly done so wrong?  
Angels begin falling, he smells the sulphur as the one pinned beneath plummets out of heaven. He can feel the acrid smoke choking him and the heat of their burning wings like an unwieldy brand in his hands. The war becomes a blur of faces that haunt his memories after they fall. He pushes them away and buries them deep. He redoubles his efforts in training to vent his frustrations and bites down his questions.

He is reassigned to Earth. Told that he will guard the Eastern Gate of the Garden and protect the humans from threats outside the walls.

\--- In the Garden

Aziraphale alights along the wall, looking out into the endless barren desert. He feels the warmth of the sun, a fiery blaze against the empty coldness of himself. He turns and looks upon the garden for the first time and nearly falls to his knees. The vibrant colours and cacophony of sounds are overwhelming in their glory. He nearly weeps at all the colours he’s never seen in heaven above. He floats down to the garden and reaches a hand out reverently to touch fiery red roses, golden sunflowers, emerald green ferns, and sapphire blue irises. He feels the earthy soil beneath his feet, reassuring and grounding. He reaches up and feels the strength of the branches of the trees, he delights in the sensations he’s never known. The roughness of bark is nothing like the yielding leather of his sword, the silken petals of flowers are nothing like the lightness of his robes, and then he sees his corporation reflected back at him within the water. Water is a marvel, cool and soft and powerful in ways he scarcely has words to explain. 

He makes his way up to his post after several hours exploring his little patch of eden. Happy to sit atop the walls and watch the colours in the shifting light of the sun. The water glittering like jewels in the rosy hues of sunset is, he thinks, a joy unparalleled. 

The next day he sees his charges for the first time, he loves them in the same detached way he loved his platoon, though perhaps with a more parental bend. He delights in their exploration and learning, though the glassiness of their eyes makes it easier to watch them from afar. He rather likes Eve, he thinks, how happy she is to share her all with Adam. Adam is a fine human, but a bit boring. He reminds Aziraphale somewhat of Michael with his easy acceptance of everything. He finds himself watching Eve more than Adam, even in her forced innocence she seems more curious, more adventurous. He feels a tug of concern each time her explorations lead her to possible danger, but it is easy to dismiss. He is not there to protect the humans from tiny scratches they do not feel.

The days pass in this manner very peacefully, he notices a strange presence in the garden but thinks little of it at first. It seems to avoid the places where the humans tread, content to lounge in quiet areas where it rests. He does not seek it out nor see what the presence looks like, and eventually it fades into the background. He is horrified when he suddenly realizes how close the presence is to Eve. He flies toward the tree of knowledge in time to see Adam take the fruit from Eve. The presence is long gone and Aziraphale has failed.

When the humans are cast from the garden, Aziraphale does not question. He simply tears a hole in the wall with his bare hands so they will not be forced to fall from the ramparts of the wall. He gives them his sword and advises them not to let the sun go down on them there. 

He flies back to his post as quick as his wings can carry him to watch his charges make their way across the desert. He has not been given leave to follow them and mourns his inability to help them as they strike out into the unforgiving unknown. He barely even registers the now familiar presence until it is at his side.


	3. First Meetings - Crawly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter keeps pretty closely to show cannon as far as dialogue goes but is shaded in a different light. I won't be sticking this closely to canon all the time and will gladly huck it out the fucking window the minute it doesn't suit my needs. I'm looking at you 1860's holy water debacle.

“Well that went down like a lead balloon.” He murmurs aloud, watching the fair haired angel at his side out of the corner of his eye. He brushes back a stray curl of ruby locks, tucking it behind his ear. He watches as the angel starts at his voice, his electric blue eyes snap towards him.  


“Sorry? What was that” The angel’s voice is slightly rough, but pleasing and soft. It has a slightly musical lilt to it and settles deep in his chest. Crawly decides he rather likes it.

“I said,” he tosses a cheeky grin, “Well that went down like a lead balloon.” He feels the familiar curls of celestially familial love tickling the aching hole in his soul and quashes it down viciously.

“Yes, yes, it did, rather.” The angel seems a bit distracted glancing towards and away from Crawly quickly in succession. 

“Bit of an overreaction if you ask me. First offense and everything.” He does not say aloud that the same could be said for the fallen. “I can’t see what’s so bad about knowing the difference between good and evil anyway.” Crawly pushes on, tells himself he’s only here to rile the angel up and not because he is lonely. 

“Well it must be bad…” The angel starts, and looks over at him. Waiting.

“Crawly.” The red haired demon supplies helpfully, though the name sticks like tar in his throat.

“Crawly.” The angel repeats, rolling the name over in his mouth. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have tempted them into it.” He affirms.

“Oh,” Crawly drawls, “They just said ‘get up there and make some trouble.’” He lets his lips twist into a half pout petulantly before forcing them into a grimace.

“Well obviously,” the angel sounds just a touch frustrated, “You’re a demon. It’s what you do.” His blue eyes flick up and down the length of Crawly’s body quickly. Crawly decides to magnanimously ignore the opening in the conversation to fuck off.

“Not very subtle of the almighty, though. Fruit tree in the middle of a garden with a ‘don’t touch’ sign. I mean, why not put it on top of a high mountain? Or on the moon?” Why put all the answers to what you want most in the world right in front of you and tell you you can’t have it? Goes unspoken. “Makes you wonder what God’s really planning.” He doesn’t quite mean to let that slip out, tinged as it is in the questions before his fall.

“Best not to speculate.” The angel says, the authority in his voice sends a shiver down Crawly’s back that he studiously ignores. “It’s all part of the great plan. It’s not for us to understand. It’s… ineffable.” 

“The great plan’s ineffable?” Crawly’s tone slips into something a touch more defiant and combative.

“Exactly,” The angel pins him with an imperious glare and Crawly feels chastised, he pushes down the desire to please the other quickly and settles instead for ignoring his words to study the other’s corporation, he thinks he rather likes how soft the angel looks though he banishes that thought as well. “It is beyond understanding and incapable of being put into words.” 

“Didn’t you have a flaming sword?” Crawly blurts out, he vaguely remembers catching sight of the angel atop his post once or twice and the figure had held a heaven issued flaming sword. 

The angel sputters for a moment, caught off balance. 

“You did! It was flaming like anything!” Crawly feels giddy with his realization, like a child figuring out a terribly vexing puzzle. “What happened to it?” He can barely reign in his curiosity when the angel only makes a noncommittal noise of discomfort. “Lost it already, have you?”

“Gave it away.” Comes the barely audible response.

“You what!?” Disbelief and interest war with one another as Crawly finds himself hanging on the angel’s every word.

“I gave it away! There are vicious animals. It’s going to be cold out there, and she’s expecting already!” The mini rant began plaintive before quickly turning firm and authoritative. “And I said, ‘Here you go, flaming sword, don’t thank me. And don’t let the sun go down on you here.’ I do hope I didn’t do the wrong thing…” The last part is spoken so softly Crawly is almost certain it was not meant for his ears and in that moment Crawly knows he is truly and utterly fucked.

“Oh, you’re an angel,” He rushes to console before he can override that impulse. “I don’t think you can do the wrong thing.” He grimaces as the words leave his mouth, but they’re out there now. 

“Oh.. Oh thank … Oh thank you.” The angel seems a little uncomfortable but grateful for the comfort. “It’s been bothering me.” He confides.

“I’ve been worrying too.” Crawly starts before he realizes it, “What if I did the right thing with the whole eat the apple business? A demon can get into a lot of trouble for doing the right thing.” He winces away from the sound of Adam landing a meaty blow against the lion that had threatened him and Eve. “It’d be funny if we both got it wrong, eh? If I did the good thing and you did the bad one.” He chuckles and preens a little when he realizes the angel chuckles in spite of himself before coming to his senses. He likes the other’s laugh, it is warm and comforting.

“No!” The smile drops from his face and the mirth bleaches from his voice, “It wouldn’t be funny at all.”

They stand there for a moment, watching the retreating figures of the human before a strange sound reaches Crawly’s ears. He feels the warm wetness hit his face and his lips make a little ‘o’. The angel next to him spread his wing above him, shielding the demon from the rain. Crawly shuffles closer to the angel, a pleasant feeling warming his chest from the gesture of protection. He plays idly with one of the curls that ends down by his waist.

“What’s your name, angel?” He bites his tongue and hopes he hasn’t broken the peace they’ve made.

“Aziraphale.” 

He repeats the name once, twice, and then thrice testing it and letting it roll past his lips. The angel looks pleased that he’s able to pronounce it properly and he feels that pleasant warmth return. 

They stand in companionable peace until the rains pass over them unto the desert. Neither seems willing to let the moment end but finally the demon bids the angel farewell and makes his way back down.


	4. First Meetings - Aziraphale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is (currently) the last chapter I have planned to write in both POVs as separate chapters. From now on most events will be mostly told from only one perspective with the occasional moment retold from the other's, based on who is the main focus of the event. This should pick up the pace of the fic quite a bit.

“Well that went down like a lead balloon.” A voice breaks through Aziraphale’s musings. It’s gentle and soothing, and he misses the words in favor of enjoying the way the voice works over them. He snaps his eyes to his side and sees a man shaped being where one was not before. Their hair is fiery red and he feels a sudden wild urge to sink his hands into that hair and feel if it is as soft as it looks, he dismisses the thought out of hand. Molten gold snake eyes look back at him, sparkling in the brilliant sun, he finds himself tempted to get lost in their hypnotic gaze. 

“Sorry? What was that” His voice rumbles a bit gruffer than he’d like, he blames it on lack of use. He studies the face of his conversation partner; all sharp angles, high cheek bones under sun kissed dusky rose skin, and a smattering of freckles across an aquiline nose.

“I said,” pink lips turn up into a mischievous grin, “Well that went down like a lead balloon.” Aziraphale finds himself having to rip his eyes away from that tempting mouth and … oh… he rankles under the realization.

“Yes, yes, it did, rather.” He glances between his adversary and his former charges his mind working quickly. He felt a pang of sympathy for Eve, if he was feeling the wily temptation of this demon as an angel of the Lord, how could poor Eve have ever been expected to resist. He distantly thought how impolite it was on the demon’s behalf to use his powers on him but he supposed it was to be expected.

“Bit of an overreaction if you ask me. First offence and everything.” The demon pauses, and Aziraphale tamps down the urge to agree. “I can’t see what’s so bad about knowing the difference between good and evil anyway.” Aziraphale stifles a huff and refuses to let his opponent know how affected he is. 

“Well it must be bad…” Aziraphale looks over at the red haired beauty, he allows himself that much, even if he quashes harshly all other thoughts regarding the pretty demon and how much he’d like to run his hands through those ruby locks, how much he’d like to see what face his demon would make if he were to tug it gently… he sharply cuts off the line of thought and waits patiently for the demon (he stubbornly writes over the idea of ‘his’ demon) to give him his name. Only because he needs to know what to call his enemy, of course.

“Crawly.” The pretty demon offers, and Aziraphale ignores those lips curling around the sounds.

“Crawly.” Aziraphale tests the name out, it doesn’t quite feel right but it evokes images of the demon at his feet and he must quickly force himself to move on and ignore the rabbit hole that line of thinking would lead down. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have tempted them into it.” 

“Oh,” The demon extends the sound, lips wrapping around it, “They just said ‘get up there and make some trouble.’” 

“Well obviously,” Aziraphale grouches, thinking that he would very much like for the demon to stop leaking energy or whatever it is that is forcing these lurid thoughts into his heavenly mind. “You’re a demon. It’s what you do.” He lets his eyes drag up along the length of Crawly’s slender body, sizing up his enemy of course, and nothing else. He considers telling the demon to leave, but finds himself loathe to let him out of his sight.

“Not very subtle of the almighty, though. Fruit tree in the middle of a garden with a ‘don’t touch’ sign. I mean, why not put it on top of a high mountain? Or on the moon? Makes you wonder what God’s really planning.” Aziraphale feels irritation seep into his mood, first the lust and now this? Really. This demon is becoming a nuisance. He ignores the little voice that suggests he does not really mind.

“Best not to speculate.” Aziraphale says firmly, expecting obedience and deference. “It’s all part of the great plan. It’s not for us to understand. It’s… ineffable.” 

“The great plan’s ineffable?” The demon’s voice is tinged in defiance and Aziraphale fights the urge to grab a handful of those lovely curls and sharply tug them in reprimand. The demon is not one of his and he should not expect his compliance. He ignores how much the resentment curls in his stomach.

“Exactly,” He lets a little divine authority leak into his words “It is beyond understanding and incapable of being put into words.” 

“Didn’t you have a flaming sword?” The demon suddenly exclaims almost excitedly.

Aziraphale feels himself flounder, off balance by the sudden change in the demon’s demeanor.

“You did! It was flaming like anything!” Crawly’s voice sounds excited and Aziraphale most certainly does not find it unbearably adorable. “What happened to it?” The red head presses on impatiently “Lost it already, have you?”

“Gave it away.” Aziraphale murmurs, he does not like giving Crawly anymore ammunition for his temptations and possible spite.

“You what!?” The question comes in a hard to parse tone. 

“I gave it away! There are vicious animals. It’s going to be cold out there, and she’s expecting already!” He finds himself justifying his actions, he’s done nothing wrong! He did what he did to protect his precious charges and he will not be belittled for it! “And I said, ‘Here you go, flaming sword, don’t thank me. And don’t let the sun go down on you here.’ I do hope I didn’t do the wrong thing…” The final bit slips out almost unintentionally.

“Oh, you’re an angel,” The demon speaks gently “I don’t think you can do the wrong thing.” His words are comforting and Aziraphale finds himself unprepared for the softness in the fiery beings words.

“Oh.. Oh thank … Oh thank you.” He was expecting ridicule and shaming, but Crawly’s words soothe an edge of worry he had not even known was there. “It’s been bothering me.” He admits.

“I’ve been worrying too.” Crawly sounds thoughtful, as if speaking without considering his audience “What if I did the right thing with the whole eat the apple business? A demon can get into a lot of trouble for doing the right thing.” He notices the red head flinch at the meaty blow Adam lands on the lion, he does not tuck up Crawly in his wings as he desires. “It’d be funny if we both got it wrong, eh? If I did the good thing and you did the bad one.” Aziraphale finds himself chuckling in spite of himself for a moment before realizing the words themselves.

“No!” He scowls, “It wouldn’t be funny at all.” He imagines, for a brief horrific moment, his beautiful demon broken and bloodied at the hands of hell and he has to viciously quash the urge to grab Crawly and hide the firebrand away from the world.

They stand there for a moment, watching the retreating figures of the humans when he smells the petrichor on the air. The clouds release their bounty onto the land and a wild moment of panic has Aziraphale’s wings snapping into reality to shield Crawly. He fears the rain to be divinely blessed and cannot bear the thought of the lovely firebrand snuffed out.

Even as it becomes clear that the rain is mere water, he does not move his wing away. It feels far too right to mantle over Crawly and he allows himself the comfort of it.

“What’s your name, angel?” Crawly speaks, almost hesitantly.

“Aziraphale.” 

Crawly repeats the name thrice, rolling his pink lips over the syllables of his divine name. Aziraphale feels immensely pleased when Crawly speaks his name.

They stand in companionable peace until the rains pass over them unto the desert. Neither seems willing to let the moment end but finally the demon bids him farewell and Aziraphale watches anxiously as Crawly disappears down the wall. Fighting the urge to yank back the demon and wrap him up in his arms and wings.


	5. Gerzeh 3500 BCE - Aziraphale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm an anthro major and a history nerd so get ready for weirdly accurate historical references!! I'm definitely going to be adding in a lot more meetings through time than we get in the cold open, hopefully the tone isn't too odd when I try to add in show canon. Again, I don't mind hucking it out the window but it does have a lot of great scenes. I just want to explore history with my ineffably horny dorks.
> 
> Anywho! Here's Gezreh culture! A prehistoric Egyptian culture settled along the west bank of the Nile. Not too much about this culture has survived but we do know that they had a pictographic language that is the foundation of Hieroglyphics and there was lots of trading happening with Mesopotamia. Some artifacts found in this area even depict Mesopotamian myths!

Egypt, circa 3500 BCE, Gerzeh east of Faiyum Oasis

Aziraphale made his way through the marketplace in the smallish town he’d come to, the scent of livestock and clay permeated the air and the sounds of humanity were a dull roar. He was grateful for his attire, a linen wrap that kept most of the sun off his pale skin, a neat little turban keeping his face shaded. He’d only been sent back to earth a little less than a century ago and most of that time had been spent in the Indus valley (Modern India) with the tribes of Harappan culture that were beginning to settle down and build small permanent camps. He’d been sent to Egypt to oversee the development of their pictographic language into a proper writing system. (Proto hieroglyphics of the time that were precursors to what we now know as Egyptian Hieroglyphs) It would take many centuries surely, but he was expected to come and go and merely have Egypt as a sort of base of operations until other orders were given or their writing system well and truly took off. 

He finally found himself exiting the market place as he made his way towards the building he’d been told would be there waiting for him, he would have simply continued walking if not for the woman that accidentally knocked into him. He turned to apologize to the young lady when out of the corner of his eye he saw the ruby red locks that had been burned into his memory since that meeting 500 years ago. He was moving towards the demon before he even registered what was going on. 

The desert complimented Crawly, truly. The sun had deepened his light tan and he nearly glowed with a bronze shine, the soft fabrics of his pleated black schendyt (a sort of linen skirt worn by men, often depicted in old kingdom art) clung to his muscles and his chest was fully on display in its resplendent glory beneath the blessed sun. A copper Usekh collar (traditional thick collar style necklace) began at the hollow of his throat and ended a bit above his sternum. A few strings of Lapis and travertine beads adorned his wrists and those beautiful blood red curls brushed the small of his back. Crawly was even more mesmerizing and haunting than his memory had asserted. 

He paused as he found himself a few yards from the demon, realizing suddenly that Crawly didn’t even know he was there. His brow furrowed, he’d felt the same feelings stirring and if they were not a conscious effort on the demon’s part then he was truly stumped. Perhaps Crawly always leaked this strange and heady lust filled energy? None of the humans seemed to be reacting overmuch to it, a few appreciative looks at a beautiful form but nothing like the intensity Aziraphale felt raging beneath his surface just barely contained, he’d expected to see his desires reflected in the faces of humans far more susceptible to the demon’s wiles.

For now, he pushed the thoughts away and justified making contact with Crawly to establish that he was here to thwart his rival. His very pretty and lovely little rival…

Crawly, for his part, seemed rather occupied at the moment. He was holding what looked like an Ivory comb in his hands and arguing with a merchant.

“A whole strand of my beads!? That’s a rip off! It’s one measly comb, I’ll give you 3 lapis and 4 Traverite!” He heard Crawly as he closed the distance between them, growing amused at the site before him. It seemed the demon was attempting to haggle.

“Traverite is as common as sand! A strand of lapis for my fine ivory comb is a bargain, I have already discounted the half strand extra I would charge for such a fine comb as this!” The merchant bites back.

A soft plinking of beads startles the two out of their heated debate, Aziraphale sets down the beads and thanks the merchant before taking hold of Crawly’s wrist and pulling the wide eyed red head away from the stall.

“Oy! What are you doing? You let him rip us off!” Crawly shrieks then tosses over his shoulder “I’ll be back to deal with you!” the merchant waves him off, counting his beads. Aziraphale ignores the curl of pleasure that blossoms at Crawly’s easy use of ‘us’ as though their being a unit is the most natural thing in the world. Focusing instead on taking his now pouting demon to his home. He smells Crawly now and it is a dark and heady perfume, one that smells of cinnamon and fire, spices and desert wildflowers, embers and incense. The soft hint of sulphur is almost entirely buried under Crawly’s scent. He finds himself breathing it in deeply. Addicting is the only word that springs to mind.

Upon finally entering the cool building he drops Crawly’s wrist as quickly as possible, despite every nerve screaming at him to pull the red head closer. He realizes he's not sure why he'd brought his opponent (rival? enemy? object of desire?) to his home, but it had felt right at the time. He decides to simply go with it for now.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the gesture angel, but you let yourself get scammed.” Crawly says, running his long elegant fingers over the fine details of the ivory comb.

“It’s not as though I could not simply miracle more.” Aziraphale shrugs, pulling soft cloths out of thin air to make a space to lounge in the empty room. 

“It’s the principle of the thing angel! You can’t let the humans walk all over you!” Crawly is pouting again and it is adorable.

The angel reclines on the newly made lounging area, gesturing for the demon to join him. Crawly makes himself comfortable in a way the tells of serpent origins, looking entirely too relaxed and comfortable. 

“So what brings you to this part of the world Angel? Haven’t seen you in ooh 500 or so years I think.” Crawly begins to run the comb through his ruby curls, the curls already looser than they had been at the wall relax into a soft cascade beneath his ministrations.

“On assignment, here to make sure this civilization develops writing. This place needs a little more help than Sumer apparently.” He grimaces, wondering if he should pay a visit to the Sumerians once in awhile just to check… “Yourself? Been here long I take it.” He asks, indicating the clothing native to this area.  
“Hm, haven’t been here all that long really, about a year or so. Encouraging pagan worship as it were.” He starts attempting to plait his hair, his clever fingers getting ahead of themselves and jumbling up the process. He has to start over a few times in the silence before Aziraphale finally snaps.

“Oh come here I’ll do it!” Aziraphale groans in frustration and indicates the place before him. The words are out before he really processes them and as Crawly makes his way, albeit warily, to sit before him he swallows hard at the thought of getting to sink his hands into that hair.

He runs his fingers through the curls a few times indulgently, checking for snags he insists to himself, before taking the hair in hand and plaiting it gently. The hair, he is pleased to find, is even softer than he’d dreamed. He explains how to braid as he works, emphasizing a smooth motion. All too soon he reaches the end and ties off the plait with a bit of string from his robes. Crawly runs his fingers over the braid before moving back to his original position. He takes hold of some of his forelocks and begins braiding as Aziraphale had instructed. Aziraphale bites down the urge to offer to continue braiding, but finds himself smiling in response to Crawly’s sheer joy at doing a proper little braid. 

They sit together an unspoken agreement to set aside work for a bit, exchanging stories of the last 500 years or so, Crawly had spent most of that time simply roaming and sleeping before returning to check on the humans periodically. This was his first real assignment since the Garden. 

All too soon the noon day sun gives way to dusky twilight and Crawly bids him farewell. Their evening of tenuous peace coming to an end. He’s been here a year already, and downstairs has told him to move on to other places. He confides that he’s excited to be more nomadic again, though he knows he will miss having a place to call his own. Aziraphale asks if he must go tonight, Crawly replies he was supposed to have left hours ago. 

Aziraphale watches him leave, once again fighting the urge to pull the demon into his arms.


	6. Mesopotamia - 3004 BCE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! End of the week is always busier for me.  
Here's the ark and here's soft Crawly saving kids because of course he does he's baby.
> 
> This one's a little longer but hopefully you all enjoy! 
> 
> Savor the fluff now, there will be plenty of angst and 'hereditary enemies' later.
> 
> See bottom for further notes.

Mesopotamia 3004 BCE 

~~~~~~ Aziraphale ~~~~~~

‘Not the kids! You can’t kill kids!’ The words rang in his ears, and those beautiful eyes had been so distressed that he could still feel their sorrowful burn upon him. Crawly disappeared when the rains had started three days ago and Aziraphale had been expected to be aboard the ark. Their conversation had been too short and impersonal for his liking, afterall, he’d only just begun to come to terms with the fact that his attraction to Crawly was purely of his own making and not a demonic influence. While it was nice to know that Crawly hadn’t been tempting him, it did leave him on unsure footing. A million questions arose from this revelation but one stood out pointedly. Did Crawly find him attractive too? That had somehow become the most obsessive question in the last few decades, it was the one that he kept circling back to even above the questions about what heaven might think. All in all, Aziraphale was terribly out of sorts about the whole thing. Accepting that he was carnally attracted to the demon was easy, that was purely biological and had little to do with his morals, it was the slightly more… tender… feelings that worried him. 

He pushed away those thoughts for now, they could wait until after his duties were done. According to Noah’s son, Japheth, the animals were too skittish to be taken care of easily and he and his brothers had nearly been injured a few times. Thus, Aziraphale had offered to calm the animals down for the process of feeding them. He made his way down the labyrinthian insides of the Ark, sending angelic waves of calm throughout the pens. He stopped to check each one until he saw what was making the animals so riled up in the first place.

Inside an extra pen that had definitely not been there when the ark was originally built, was a massive beautiful black serpent with a crimson belly coiled around a small clutch of eggs. 

At least, that was the illusion any human would see, Aziraphale could see through the illusion, it was hazy and the images blurred together a bit, but he could clearly see the dozen or so human children wrapped up in the great serpent’s coils. Hauntingly beautiful gold eyes bored into him, sharp fangs in full display as Crawly reared back protectively around his brood.

A hissing voice curled in his ear, Crawly projecting his thoughts directly into the air. 

_ **Don’t come any closssser** _

Aziraphale held his hands up in a gesture of peace but raised an eyebrow and indicated the children without words

_ **Clearly I am thwarting the almighty, she wanted thesssse children dead becausssse of their potential for umm evil and nassssstinesssss yessss. Great wickednesssssssss. Purely demonic interessssssst.  
** _

Aziraphale nodded and tried to hide the mirth in his eyes and disbelief in his smile, the pride he felt was simply too much to hide, however.  
“Of course, great wickedness.” The snake managed to look only the smallest bit put out.

_ **You’re not going to try to throw them overboard are you? I will Fight you. If you try to hurt them, I will kill you.** _

“They’re on the ark, my duty is to care for every single human aboard the ark.” Aziraphale smiled and winked at the serpent.

Crawly seemed to consider this for a moment before nodding. He ducked his head back down protectively around the children, constantly shifting gently. The children themselves were quietly hushed, their encounter had been spoken mostly in soft whispers and they seemed to pick up on the fact that they weren’t, at present, in danger. 

Japheth and his brothers came down and began feeding the animals, Shem remarked on how the large black snake must have been a stow away. Some general grumbling about the extra mouth to feed took place, but largely they worked in silence.

He watched Crawly and the children for a moment, he would leave once Noah’s sons finished their duties he told himself. At least, that had been the plan until Ham cursed and began rubbing his eyes. He swore up and down that for a moment, however brief, the snake had been curled around children, his brothers tried to console him but Aziraphale locked eyes with the serpent. Even in this form Aziraphale could see his panic and the way it made his muscles tense. Crawly’s eyes tore away from his and locked onto the three brothers that were beginning to make their way towards them. He shifted and Aziraphale could almost smell the blood in the air before it had been spilt.

He sent out a burst of angelic grace and placed his hands on Ham and Shem, urging them back upstairs, poor Ham, he tittered, must be dreadfully tired if he was seeing such strange visions. Of course that was utterly ridiculous, a snake harboring human children, who had ever heard of such an absurd thing? Surely Ham was jesting or else truly in need of rest and repose and oh jolly good idea Japheth you are quite right, you should all take a nice long nap, perhaps with a bit of wine to fortify those nerves. Do buck up! Only 37 more days to go! Japheth look confused wondering when he’d spoken those words but the brothers were quickly bundled up the steps and away from the animal area. 

Aziraphale sighed in relief when he finally shut the door behind the humans, he’d been quite sure that was about to become a blood bath if he’d not intervened. He whirled round and marched back to the enclosure where Crawly had somewhat deflated from his fighting stance.

“What,” Growled out Aziraphale “was that!?”  
Crawly shifted and onyx scales receded to give way to soft flesh, back in his man-shaped corporation Crawly looked exhausted.

“‘M tiiired, it’s not my fault the bloody humans do rounds every few hours and there’s no way they’d think ‘I should leave that stow away snake alone’ if I wasn’t projecting it into their heads the minute they walked into the area!” He sounded petulant and Aziraphale vaguely noted how unfair it was that his demon could be so cute when being so bratty.

“I don’t believe a simple illusion and projecting your will unto humans could eat up that much power, even including the power used to reshape the area wouldn’t have left you this exhausted already?”

Crawly looked cagey, the angel was sure he’d have tried to make a run for it if he could. It didn’t look like he was going to answer the question any time soon and Aziraphale had begun considering his options for twisting it out of his demon- er his adversary. 

Unfortunately for Crawly, one of the children sneezed at that moment and Crawly was shifting so quickly back into snake form that part of his coils knocked Aziraphale back a few inches. They’d felt like coals on his skin and he got his answer. The demon was pumping as much energy as he could into keeping himself and the children in his coils warm. He hadn’t even realized how much colder this part of the ship was until now, he was suddenly painfully aware of how much water was surrounding the wood they were in and how it was leeching any lingering warmth away. The animals were mostly fine, they had fur and feathers to keep them warm and he’d seen the reptiles upstairs, but Crawly ran cold. Even in his human form he tended to be cool to the touch, so he’d needed to pour constant energy into keeping his form running like a furnace. It’d only been three days but he’d used up a nice chunk of energy and then simply continued to pour it out as fast as, if not faster, than he could produce. 

Aziraphale debated for a moment before allowing a quick pulse of energy to carry his will into the minds of Noah’s family. He’d never been there at all, no angel had ever been upon the ship with them.

He took a thread of energy and wove it around to make the miracled pen that much bigger before he took a long hard look at Crawly, who was gazing at him with confusion.

“Right, serpents, not my strong suit but here we go, easy enough shape.” He muttered, mostly to himself. He let energy flow through him easily, stretching him, molding him. He lengthened and compressed and soon there was a massive white serpent coiled up neatly where Aziraphale had once stood. He preened a bit at Crawly’s slack jawed gaze before slithering up and around him. He encircled lovely Crawly and the children easily, shifting and sliding until he had them neatly tucked up in his coils. He ignored how his heart sang to finally have Crawly here, safe with him.

“Angel … what?” Crawly turned his little head towards him and they were close enough that Aziraphale could feel the air vibrate slightly where Crawly’s tongue was flicking just a few short centimeters from his own mouth.

“Angels run hot, no concentration required. I run hot enough to keep this entire pen nice and toasty.”

“But, the humans…”

“Will see what they have always seen, two stow away snakes and their clutch of young.” Aziraphale’s voice dripped in authority and confidence. “Now rest, that is final.” 

Crawly looked uncertain and wary, seemed ready to argue, but ultimately nodded so very gently before delicately lowering his head onto his own coils to rest. Aziraphale would have frowned had he the muscles to do so, perhaps he would have let it go if he were more human shaped too. It was so much easier in this form to let his desires and instincts take over. He used his own snout to gently reprimand Crawly, a light tap against his cheek that turned into a firm push that ended with Crawly’s head resting on Aziraphale’s alabaster coils. Aziraphale nodded to himself and laid his own head atop Crawly’s, a hiss of contentment escaping him. He felt Crawly’s tense muscles, a moment passed in that stiffness before the demon began to relax into his hold. He felt the magical heat drain away from those onyx scales until Crawly was back to a normal, for him, temperature. Aziraphale allowed his own natural heat to expand from him, removing the minor miracle that usually kept it tight around his corporation.

Crawly released a hiss of pleasure and snuggled deeper into the angel’s coils. It sent a thrumming heat of pleasure through Aziraphale, placating and soothing his more aggressive and primal instincts.

They spent the rest of the flood like that, though both steadfastly ignored any strange flutters of feelings this closeness brought. This was work, nothing more. At least, neither spoke of it being anything more, in fact neither did very much speaking at all if it could be helped. Mostly it was negotiating, which miracles each of them could do without attracting too much attention, which ones were too necessary to avoid, various little things that needed doing throughout their 40 day stint as babysitters.

Aziraphale did allow himself to get lost in little moments of possessive joy here and there, only for a brief moment before sharply rebuking himself. Oh but how he hoarded those moments in his memory, every willing submission on Crawly’s part, every gentle caress that strayed beyond the line of ‘work’ and every stolen moment of Crawly being genuinely kind to these poor frightened children. 

Seeing Crawly transform into a sort of half human half snake had been wonderfully delightful. He was so beautiful in every form and this one was no different. That ruby red hair shone even more brilliantly against the backdrop of onyx scales that ran along his back, and he was so tempted to touch where those scales melted into skin, feel the changing of textures between them. He longed to run his fingers along the edge of where his hips changed into serpent tail, to stroke the soft line of that skin as it gave way to tiny scales. His long curls brushed that exact strip of skin and he wondered idly how it would feel to have that hair brush the back of his hand as he stroked the skin. 

Sadly, it seemed Crawly did not care for that form. He rushed through the nightly routine and threw himself back into a fully serpentine form as soon as the children were seen to.

Aziraphale mourned quietly when he realized he might never see that form again after the flood was over.

Japheth, Shem, and Ham would take turns peeking in on the stow away snakes, they saw, as they had always seen, a large beautiful black and red snake coiled around her clutch and an absolutely massive pure white snake wrapped around all of them. They got the notion, though from where they weren’t sure, to mostly leave the snakes alone. Ham seemed particularly skittish around them, he swore the white snake was staring at him with those electric blue eyes.

As the days passed Aziraphale found himself dreading the end of the flood, unconsciously tightening his coils around the smaller snake, sometimes nuzzling the soft scales of Crawly’s crimson underbelly, and his dread even manifested itself in Aziraphale nipping at Crawly to coerce the demon into a better position for his nervous comforts. 

~~~~Crawly~~~~~

Crawly was many things; a tempter, a demon, a serpent, and a snappy dresser if he did say so himself. He was not, however, kind or nice or any other dirty little four letter words a certain angel might say. He pushed his way out of the city limits as the rain began to fall and sneered. He hated, with every fiber of his being, getting his wings wet. Enormous ebony wings snapped into the plane of reality and Crawly shot into the sky scanning the rapidly growing floodwaters. 

He worked for hours, carrying as many children in his arms as he could before settling them in a hidden piece of the ark and returning to continue scanning the waters. He worked until his wings were so waterlogged that he could barely beat them for their heaviness. He alighted on the ship with the last armful setting them down and miracling the children dry. He simply shook his wings out of the excess water before pulling them back into the hidden plane they normally resided in. They would dry eventually. 

He miracled a bottomless bread basket and a never-ending water jug, watching the children take greedy mouthfuls of food and water, eating their fill as they likely hadn’t had the chance before this disaster. He’d shifted into his serpent form, thrown up an illusion to make the children appear as large snake eggs, and given them a stern warning to always be completely silent when anyone approached. Everything else settled with, he began to convert his own energy rapidly into heat, forcing his body to run several tens of degrees warmer than it ever would naturally. It hurt his insides a little bit, made him feel like what humans described as having a fever. It worked well enough, but there was nothing to trap the heat in and thus he was forced to simply keep up the exchange of energy and heat. The children were no longer shivering and that was really all he could hope for he supposed.

\---

The angel was a truly breathtakingly beautiful snake in Crawly’s not so humble opinion. Not that the angel wasn’t always beautiful with his starlight hair and sky blue eyes, but this was truly something else. His alabaster scales shone with nigh invisible gold tips and he was truly truly massive. Crawly in this current form had made himself at least 18 feet long and quite thick around in order to properly encircle the dozen or so children in his care. Aziraphale was nearly double that.  
The angel curled himself around them and every single instinct was screaming at Crawly to submit, to bare his throat and give the angel anything he wanted. The feeling of those powerful coils wrapping around his form was so delicious and oh but Crawly could think of nothing but that strength holding him down in a more human form engaging in a much more carnal act of submission. 

He wrenched himself out of those thoughts. The angel was here to help him, not fuck him. Besides, what would an angel like that, possibly want with a demon like him? He knew his corporation was .. okay… it was a touch too scrawny and a touch too sharp in the worst ways, but he wasn’t hideous by any measure… except for his eyes perhaps…

Focusing once again he found himself entirely enveloped in angel. At said angel’s behest he lowered his head down onto his own coils, then he felt an irritated tap on his cheek and suddenly the angel was maneuvering him to lay his head on those pretty white scales. Aziraphale’s head rested on his and everything went blank for a hot minute. 

Gay panic (Is it gay if neither of you really have a gender or genitals for that matter?) firmly in check, Crawly began to relax in increments until he felt the Angel release that addictive heat. His reptile nature wanted nothing more than to sink into that blissful heat for the rest of eternity, and he simply could not keep himself from snuggling deeper into it. 

This isn’t personal, this is for work. This isn’t personal, this is for work. Became Crawly’s sanity mantra. Otherwise he might go crazy trying to understand himself. The angel made him feel things, things that were not okay. Soft warm things that made him want to sink his very essence down into Aziraphale’s core and wedge himself there so tightly that he would never be parted from the Angel again. Things that made him want to please the other, things that made him want to hear the other praise him. Things that were very much not Hell-Approved or demonic in nature. This stupid, sweet, caring, kind, annoying angel was going to be the destruction of him.

Those 40 days passed far too quickly and yet not quickly enough for Crawly, this time on the ark was the most bittersweet torture he could imagine in his existence thus far. Especially the longer they’d been on the ship. Perhaps Aziraphale was suffering from cabin fever because it seemed to Crawly that he was far too antsy, perhaps the angel wanted nothing more for this to end as soon as possible and that thought really left a sour taste in Crawly’s snout. 

The angel fidgeted when he was antsy, he would coil so wonderfully tightly against Crawly only to immediately go lax, then tighten up again in all the best ways only to loosen those coils to a, frankly, unacceptable degree. (at least to Crawly who was at this point quite hooked on angel touches.) This cycle would repeat at random, growing more frequent the longer time wore on. Then came the nuzzles, he couldn’t make heads or tails of why Aziraphale was nosing his weak spot but reminded himself that Aziraphale was not naturally a snake and might not understand the instincts that come with underbelly touches. Namely to fight or to fuck. Crawly simply endured the belly touches with the same grace as a cat that you’re petting wrong but is too awkward to tell you as such. The nipping was the worst of all, he had to constantly scream at himself, Aziraphale is not a snake, this isn’t any kind of sign or meaning he’s just bored and anxious! Aziraphale’s nips always seemed to be corralling him into a better position to be nuzzled or squeezed and he mostly just did his best to focus on the human children hidden in his coils.

It was easier to focus on the kids. He had somehow been delegated to the primary caretaker, aziraphale argued that he was the heater and not as good with kids, to which Crawly called bullshit. So at night Crawly shifted to a half human form, his top half became humanoid with a smattering of scales along his skin, but from his hips down he was all snake. Once in this form Crawly would go about cleaning the children as best he could, braiding their hair, and tucking them in with miracled cloths. He spent as little time in that form as possible. He couldn’t bear to feel Aziraphale’s eyes on the naked expanse of his skin marred with scales that marked him for the cursed thing that he was. He would have shifted to fully human for this process, if only to spare himself the moments of feeling like a monster, but after the first night they’d realized how much work it would be to get both snakes rearranged, and how cold the children would become without the snakes wrapped around them. Still, he liked this form least of his three naturally occurring forms. 

~~~~ Aziraphale ~~~~

He felt the heavenly command stop the deluge in the wee hours of the morning, long before Noah and his family would wake. This would be their best chance for escape. He woke Crawly and explained what had happened. They shifted to human forms in order to wake the children and it was all Aziraphale could do to keep his twitching hands from reaching out to hold the demon in his arms. They bundled the children onto a miracled little boat and rowed out into the rising dawn. It took a fair few hours before they found a patch of land, it took nearly the rest of the day for the waters to recede completely. The children were brought towards Noah’s camp now that the waters were gone and a small lie paired with a little bit of occult energy convinced Noah that it was in his best interest to take in these orphans who had been spared by the almighty.

They parted ways shortly thereafter. Crawly merely wandering in an East-ish direction, Aziraphale stayed behind as he’d been given no new orders and surely protecting the humans on the ark extended to keeping them alive after the flood?

Aziraphale watched him saunter off, kept his eyes on the demon’s retreating form until he could not make him out anymore. He wonders, if he would ever wish to go with Crawly, rather than watch the demon leave. Then he buries the thought and sets about helping the humans get situated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, yes, snakes don't really mate that way and no they don't really have that kind of social interaction style but shush it's better this way just trust me. Suspension of disbelief and all that.


	7. Re-education - Aziraphale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of torture and corporal punishment. Not too much detail and not the sexy kind, sorry to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the fluff, because here comes the hurt.

Heaven - Just after the flood

Aziraphale had not been expecting the summons so soon, barely a week had passed since the flood and he’d spent most of his time helping rebuild the town with Noah’s family and the orphans. His angelic strength had certainly sped things up a great deal but they were far from done. Still, it was not his place to question a superior, his lot was to obey or be obeyed. 

He stepped into one of heaven’s communal spaces, he vaguely recognized everyone else in the room. They’d all been on Earth, however briefly, at some point since its creation. He recognized Marethiel, Remiel, and Oraphale; the guardians of the Northern, Western, and Southern gates, he recognized Amarael, Zachariel, and Hanael the patron angels of music, poetry, and art respectively, he even saw Jophiel, the angel of wisdom and judgement who had only ever stepped foot on Earth to give Noah his instructions to build the Ark. 

Everyone was standing in a loose formation for briefing and Aziraphale quickly fell in line just as Gabriel entered the space.

Gabriel had been hit particularly hard by the rebellion, he’d become cold and exacting. His loss had shook heaven painfully and it had taken a lot of coaxing to convince him to return the lightning he’d unleashed back into his body. His losses had been more personal than for most, he’d lost two of his most beloved siblings and his pair bonded mate, an angel named Barachiel. Aziraphale remembered with a slight shudder how painful it had been to feel Gabriel’s lightning, not just because of the electricity coursing through his corporation, but because it forced him to feel that bottomless well of grief as if he *were* Gabriel. Since the fall no new mating pairs had been made, no law was made against it but it seemed an unspoken rule.

Now Gabriel stood before them with a sinister sneer and piercing eyes. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Reinforcing allegiance is what they called it, the vague words giving no concrete shape to what they would face. The nephalem that had been wiped away in the flood had put heaven in a bind, they needed to ensure no angel would ever again create such creatures. In true form they decided the most extreme methods to ensure it. 

The newest mandate of heaven as per the decree of the Archangels was as follows:  
Dissolve any remaining pair bonded matings, those of ye who have not already. Thou shalt not love any one creature above the almighty. To give thyself to another in such a way is treason of the highest order against her holy light. Ye shall love your God the Lord above all else including thyself. To give thyself in carnal passions is to worship, and worship is expressly for the Lord thy God. To give thy heart to another is spiritual bondage, and the only master thou shalt have is the Lord thy God.

Each of them in turn had their sessions with Gabriel, some lasted longer than others based on what Gabriel saw fit. Each of them needed to firmly understand heaven’s mandate, each of them needed to see exactly why the taint of the Earth must not lead them into temptation.

Aziraphale spent the most time with Gabriel. He felt the calm confidence and absolute authority that came from a being with the certainty that they were right. He let the words of the Archangel drape like chains unto his heart. To love another singularly was sin, to love another above others was a betrayal unto her, to desire another was to proclaim that her holy light was somehow incomplete, to act on those desires was to throw back her holy love in her face. He felt it sink into his soul as each lash of the many tipped knout rent the flesh of his back, there would be no scars left upon his body. Heaven would never tolerate it on the perfect bodies of their host. However, his immaterial form would carry the wounds and scars into eternity. A vivid reminder of who his love belongs to most each time he stepped into heaven.

After the knout had flayed him open and golden ichor had poured like thick honey down his legs to coat the floor, heaven healed his corporation. He was given little reprieve and sat in a chair in a room with Gabriel. Angelic restraints wrapped around his wrists and ankles. The archangel asked question after question about Earth and its pleasures and each time Aziraphale’s answers were found lacking, the crack of Gabriel’s flog filled the air and bruising welts would form on another part of Aziraphale’s body. They littered his soft stomach and plush thighs profusely, a few dotted his arms and chest. The worst was when Gabriel caught his open palm, the heat of the strike nearly burned and each time he clenched his hands in pain he only added to his own suffering. 

He endured, this was for his own good. If heaven thought he needed it, then surely this was right and just… right? 

He began to welcome the punishment, in response to the thoughts he dared not speak aloud. The thoughts that screamed that this was cruelty and not love, the thoughts that howled and raged against his new found helplessness, the thoughts that whispered cruelly that he was so much stronger than Gabriel and that if he truly wished he need only break his restraints and tear apart the smug Archangel with his teeth.

He took each lash and bound the pain of it with the traitorous thoughts, hoping to feel cleansed and worthy. 

He felt empty and cold by the end of his time with Gabriel. Listless in a way. Still, he pushed himself to his feet and returned to the front desk of heaven to retrieve his next assignment. He ignored the protesting of his wounded immaterial form and the exhaustion in his corporation. He checked the date of his assignment, Mesopotamia 2150 BCE. He’d been gone nearly a thousand years. His thoughts flitted towards red hair before abruptly stopping with a wrenching pain that made Aziraphale wince. He sighed and read the details, he was supposed to help a writer, Sin-leqi-unninni, gather the accounts of King Gilgamesh as accurately as possible and transcribe them as a guide for rulers to come. ‘Would have been easier to do if I’d been on Earth when Gilgamesh was ruling.’, he pushed the thought away and miracled a set of clothing that matched the society he was going to be in for the foreseeable future. It was still mostly simple robes with men going mostly bare chested. He opted for more ascetic robes that were modest and threadbare, nothing like the high quality linens he’d worn before. They itched his corporation and made him acutely aware of their dragging weight upon his flesh. Anything more extravagant was surely an indulgence of the self and thus an affront to the almighty.

City State of Uruk - 2150

Aziraphale manifested on earth just outside the city, no lodgings would be provided this time, not even coin to pay for a room for the night. Angels didn’t sleep, afterall. Humans wouldn’t notice another stray vagrant anyway.

It was easy enough to locate the aspiring author, the young man spent most of his time in the town square listening to the tales of King Gilgamesh performed aloud and trying desperately to copy them down as they were dictated. Aziraphale felt a twinge of something at seeing the written word progressing so well, but he barely spared the tablet a glance. 

He spent a few days merely making himself an established presence in the area, coming to the performances of the poetry and pretending to listen while watching the boy, Sinle as his friends seemed to call him, he was trying to get a read on him, see how he could best insert himself into his life. Perhaps an old man who’d heard the original poetry? Gilgamesh had lived in the 2600s so he certainly couldn’t pretend to have been alive then. He kept up his routine for nearly a week, he might have kept going on for a while yet if not for Sinle bringing a certain red-haired demon with him to the performance. 

Aziraphale felt a rush of pain in all the worst ways when he looked upon the foul fiend. Here was his enemy and the pain of his lessons all screamed to smite the cursed creature. He held a hand tightly over his mouth to keep the bile down as the pain threatened to bring him to his knees. Crawly seemed to be talking to the man about the performance, nodding here and there or shaking his head and launching into softly whispered explanations.

Golden eyes looked up and met blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No I don't know if anyone actually called him Sinle I just didn't want to type out his full name/title each time.
> 
> Minor cliffy :D


	8. Mesopotamia 2150BCE - Crawly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor warning for not sexy pain and violence.

Having been in Uruk for the second time in less than 500 years was certainly unexpected. It brought back memories of Gilgamesh and Enkidu, two erstwhile enemies become friends and lovers who set off on brazen adventures. A king more in love with his friend and freedom than his kingdom and a wildman who was so utterly devoted to his partner. They’d been hilarious to tail, to watch their misadventures and bragging right up until Enkidu had died. Then Crawly couldn’t stand to see the grief in Gilgamesh, too fresh and raw for the demon. He pushed that thought away and chose to think of the pair in their happiest moments, out in the wild talking about dreams and gods and goals. He thought of the angel he'd not seen since the flood, worried distantly about him. Was everything going well for him? He hoped so, in the quiet parts of his soul. He wondered vaguely if Aziraphale would have enjoyed meeting the King of Uruk, an egotistical bastard with a decent heart. 

He shook his head fondly and went to meet his next assignment. Sin-Leqi-Unninni was trying to transcribe the stories of Gilgamesh, and hell had decided it would be in their best interests to play up the larger than life deification of Gilgamesh. Really drive home the power of the gods. Spread more pagan worship and plant seeds of mortal men triumphing over the gods. He didn’t even really need to do anything, he realized as he stood before Sinle, as his friends called him, listening to the orator perform the poem. They already thought Gilgamesh to be two-thirds god and all sorts of other nutty things. Really, where did they get the idea that he was 11 cubits (roughly 18 feet or 548 cm) tall? He was just a normal man as far as Crawly had ever known him. Tall-ish and brawny sure but really this was just ridiculous. It’d only been 400 or so years.

His mind rant was cut off by the sight of starlight hair contrasting starkly to all the blacks and browns. He felt himself half choke on his sentence and his body had started to turn of its own accord toward the angel.

Crawly had been delighted, for a moment, when he recognized the soft puffy white curls that framed Aziraphale’s face. The smile that broke on his face was just a touch too wide for his own good. 

Something was wrong. He could see it now, the angel had seen him and looked horrified. Glancing around suspiciously, Crawly began making his way over to the angel, dark emotions and a thousand questions clouding his thoughts. What had happened to his angel? He was disturbingly gaunt, flesh drawn thin around his corporation, and paler than he'd ever seen him before, Aziraphale looked like he would fall over any second now and a cloying fear settled itself in the pit of his stomach. Aziraphale's eyes were dazed and unfocused as if looking straight through him tears gathered at the corners, a hand pressed against an open mouth contorted in a silent scream. 

Crawly grabbed the angel’s arms and shook him gently.

“Aziraphale, Aziraphale what’s wrong?” The words came out tinged in desperation, soft and pleading. “Please Angel, tell me what’s wrong.” a supplication unto this divine being.

Aziraphale’s eyes snapped onto him focusing, widening, and the angel began to struggle out of his grip. Panic gripped Crawly’s heart and with all his scattered focus he bent reality, space, and time around them.

They appeared in the small house Crawly had taken residence in. Their corporations landed on the floor just as Aziraphale broke away from him with a howl, his brilliant white wings, resplendent and gold tipped, snapped into reality. They violently shoved aside furniture and sent ceramic crashing into the ground to shatter. Crawly held his hands up in a gesture of peace but that only seemed to anger his angelic counter part more. 

Crawly tried to reach out, to lay a calming hand on the angel’s shoulder, faster than he could blink there was a sickening, loud, wet crunch and his wrist burned in Aziraphale’s grip. He felt the shifting of his broken bones beneath his flesh as the angel squeezed and he cried out in agony.

The noise seemed to startle something in the Angel and he dropped Crawly’s wrist in mute horror. Crawly cradled his injury to his chest and crawled backwards until his back hit the wall, hot tears pouring down his cheek even as he pours energy into healing his wrist. It wasn’t a clean break and the healing hurts almost as much as the break itself before it finally knits itself back together. 

He stares up at the angel, uncomprehending. Aziraphale sinks to his knees and begins to weep out loud. Fear has its hooks deep in Crawly right now, and it rattles him. He’s never been afraid of the principality before, never thought he had to. Afraid of his own feelings, afraid of his superiors, all of those things certainly, but never Aziraphale. Yet right now, all of his instincts screamed that he needed to go. 

Aziraphale looked at him fully, blue eyes pinning him in place. Swirling blues hardened into an icy stare and quivering lips twisted into a sneer.

“Leave.” The command came in a tone dripping with such darkness it sent horrified shivers down Crawly’s back. He wasted no time in complying. He ran for miles and miles until his thin legs gave out beneath him, crawled until the sand burned his belly, and dragged himself across the desert before coming to a river. His mind blank save for the thought of rest, he pushed himself to slip back into a serpent form and sank to the bottom of the river, barely sparing a thought to be grateful he did not need to breath.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aziraphale stared unseeing at his horrible horrible hands. Vicious, cruel, vile things. His thoughts and feelings fully at war, heaven’s lessons inflicting their pain upon him and his guilt and revulsion eroding his sanity. He could hear Gabriel whispering poison in his ear, find the vile creature and extinguish it. The thought nearly drove him mad. It clashed viciously with the parts of his soul that cried out to hold the redhead in his arms where he would be safe forever. A vicious voice hissed that his arms had been the very things that hurt the demon, they were the last place the firebrand could ever be safe.

Underneath the turmoil and ever shifting mix of hatred, anger, fear, and guilt, a single thought played on repeat: Crawly was safe, he managed to send the demon away before he could truly hurt him. 

A darker thought wormed its way into that space too, how beautiful the demon was when he cried. How much he’d like to make him cry again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I regret nothing. 
> 
> We'll work through the pain and get to the pleasure eventually.
> 
> Also yes, there is evidence in various translations that Gilgamesh and Enkidu had a very carnal friendship and love, it has been a touch exaggerated here.


	9. Decisions and Insecurities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crawly and Aziraphale wrestle with their inner demons (pun intended). It's going to be a long journey for both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some liberties taken with imagery. Mostly with plants that didn't exist at the time.
> 
> It might be a little messy, but that's sort of how I process things too. Making strange leaps and associations, especially if I don't have all the facts. I usually have the freedom to talk about it though.
> 
> Working through their trauma will take place on a scale of years but I'm going to try to contain the big separation to one or two longish chapters.

Somewhere along the Euphrates, Halfway between Uruk and Babylon 2150 BCE

Crawly awoke after an indeterminate amount of time, he shifted back into a human form but stayed beneath the waters of the rushing river. He watched the current move above him and felt the flowing water play with his long hair, it swirled and swished in the water, weightless around him, the sun catching it and lighting it up. He felt at peace for a moment. 

Finally he pushed off the bottom of the river and swam towards the river bank, pulling himself out and finding a large rock to lay on so the noon-day sun could dry him off. 

As he lay basking in the sun he reflected on his dreams. He rarely remembered his dreams, but when he did. they were always incredibly vivid and full of meaning. At least, that had been what the shamans he’d met had told him. He’d spent a lot of time with shamans learning everything he could about reading dreams. He’d told hell it was to better tempt humans by using their subconscious against them. Really he’d just wanted to know why visions of reddish Stargazer lilies intermixing with white Madonna lilies haunted his dreams since the Garden. 

He’d eventually come to the acceptance that his dreams indicated less than demonic and possibly affectionate (humans might suggest romantic) feelings towards a certain white haired angel. 

Right now he thought about the 2 dreams that he’d just had. The dreams were toned by different voices. He didn’t really know for sure what these voices were but he rather thought that one was the echoes of his grace and the other was his demonic nature.

The first dream had been given to him by what he'd dubbed his former grace, it had been full of love at first. He was so full of her love that it felt like being enveloped in her light, the way she’d done when he’d painted the sky for her. It felt like a reunion. Then the love became somewhat muted and the voice had lead him through the halls of heaven. He heard pained cries and the sounds of torture. It terrified him, even during the war there hadn’t been torture in heaven. He heard the voice that had cried out in pain, though he couldn’t make out the words spoken. With a shiver he realized he knew that voice. It belonged to a certain starlight haired angel he rather fancied. He looked towards the vague direction of the voice and for a moment that love returned full force as if to comfort him. It drew away and the scene shifted, he watched their encounter in Uruk, watched Aziraphale snap his wrist and felt his corporation fill with fear. The voice soothed him and he let himself be shown the great struggle Aziraphale had gone through in sending him away. Even at his weakest point, Aziraphale had chosen to spare Crawly, and he knew then that he could never fear the Principality again. The voice then sent him back to his own mind. 

He wasn’t entirely sure if the second dream had come on the heels of the first or if there had been dreams dreamt between the two. However, the dream had come. He was alone in a painfully tiny and cold room. The walls were too vivid neon colors in patterns that played tricks on your mind and convinced you of movement where there was none. The voice that sounded like his own tinged in depravity spoke. It taunted him, jeered at him. It mocked his tender affections, whispered that the angel could never truly enjoy his company. He was too ugly and broken inside. It planted in his head the idea that heaven had only punished Aziraphale because of him. He’d tempted him and heaven had lashed out against it. The voice was cruel and cutting, merciless in its vile whispers. 

Looking back on the dreams, he came to the conclusion that it would be best to leave the angel in peace, though the thought hurt a great deal. Perhaps someday they might share a pleasant conversation, perhaps that was too much and even being in the same city was putting him at risk. Crawly went back and forth between his desire to keep Aziraphale safe and his want to be around the angel. He was selfish and evil for it, he wanted to spend so much more time with Aziraphale, but even with how little time they’d spent together he’d been punished. 

A thought struck him, and a very very small smile found its way across his lips. Maybe… maybe it wasn’t how often they’d seen each other. Maybe it was because the last time they’d seen each other before hand, they’d spent 40 days together. He grasped the thought desperately. Maybe it would be okay to steal a few hours or minutes here and there and the angel would still be safe. Crawly held onto the thought like a lifeline. If that was the case, it wouldn’t be so bad. 

Another thought struck him. If it had been his fault that Aziraphale had been punished, maybe Aziraphale wanted nothing to do with him. That thought hurt more, but if that was true he’d accept it. He’d keep watch from afar and maybe someday Aziraphale would tolerate his hateful presence enough for a short chat. 

It was a little pathetic, he thought, to hope for something as benign as small talk with the object of his affections that he’d once had the joyous pleasure of being wrapped up in, but he would not and could not be truly selfish when it came to the angel. Aziraphale had spared him, because in his heart he was truly pure and good and kind, but he’d clearly wanted to be far away from him. His angel’s wants would always come first, and if Aziraphale wanted him to keep away, he would watch from the shadows and find ways to make it up to the angel from there. That was simply the way Crawly had always loved. 

Uruk 2150 BCE

For nearly 40 days Aziraphale had laid curled up in Crawly’s bed. Dust began to settle on him and the demon’s heady perfume had waned and faded from the soft cloths. His eyes were glassy and unfocused, staring unseeing out into Crawly’s abode. He’d felt so exhausted after Crawly fled that he simply dragged himself to the bed and thrown himself face down into the soft cloths. He’d buried his face into the pillow and simply breathed in the demon’s scent for a good 3 days. He didn’t sleep, but he welcomed the chance to rest and repose and simply process his own thoughts. 

He fell into a deep meditative state sometime after the 5th or 6th day. At first he just let himself feel and process and let his emotions rage inside him. Eventually his roiling sea of emotions settled and his staggering intellect began working its way through everything that had happened. Angels weren’t particularly more intelligent than humans, but Aziraphale had the advantage of being both long lived and quick witted. Having been on earth so long and met so many philosophers, not to mention hearing stories and meeting others, Aziraphale was in the unique position to understand his more human emotions better than any angel in heaven above. 

It was almost agony to work through the bulk of his negative emotions from heaven’s lessons. He didn’t even try to fool himself into thinking that he’d overcome the after effects of the lessons, he could barely say that he accepted that the lessons were not his fault and that heaven had been wrong. He could say it though, logically, maybe he didn’t fully believe it but for now it was enough to be able to say it if only to himself. Heaven had made a mistake, and he could feel his worldview shift just the tiniest bit, not even an entire micrometer but when you were as ancient and set in your ways as Aziraphale was, it felt monumental and world breaking. Even if he didn’t fully believe it, he was satisfied in being able to logically say ‘heaven overreacted and in its overreaction had made a mistake in its haste to keep things status quo’. He worried for a moment, when the first stirring of the thought had flit its way through his mind if he would fall for questioning.

However, he’d been thinking it out loud for nearly a week or so and now as he shifted and sat up from his resting place, he wondered if perhaps the almighty would be saddened by what had happened. It wasn’t her decree after all, it had been the archangels’. She’d been the one who invented the mating bond ceremony after all. Still, the archangels were charged with the care of heaven in her name. 

All this thinking really hurt his head and heart. However, he came to a solid decision. He would stay away from Crawly, he couldn’t bear to meet the demon again and see fear in those beautiful eyes. Tears welled up in his own eyes in remorse, at his weakest he’d proven that he could and would hurt Crawly. One of the things he’d swore to protect on Earth and he’d been the cause of pain and terror. Surely lovely Crawly would want nothing to do with him, and he would fully accept that. He'd protect Crawly from afar. Keep him safe from everything including himself, because he could not bear the thought of a universe without the firebrand in it. He silently mourned all the chance meetings and conversations they would now never have. It served him right, he thought, he was a failure of an angel. The thoughts weighed on him, even if heaven had been hasty and made a mistake in how they enforced their ideas, that didn’t necessarily mean they were totally wrong. He’d really allowed himself to become enamoured with human things, unnecessary things. Things like writing, and food, and touching. Things like soft clothing and perfumed soaps. He could miracle clothing woven of heaven’s light and snap away dirt as if it had never existed, and yet in his years on Earth he’d made habits of doing things as humanly as possible. He wondered, not for the first time, if he might have saved humanity from the flood if only he’d been more competent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stargazer lilies are gorgeous and even though they weren't bred into reality until 1974 right here in California, I'd like to think that Crowley as Raphael invented them. Though the version in the fic are more red like his hair than the pink they are irl. Maybe they were flowers in eden that disappeared when the garden did or were washed away in the flood, maybe Crowley describes them to a lovely lady named Leslie Woodriff one day in the 70's while on assignment in California and is delighted to find that she very nearly recreates the lost plant.
> 
> I'd like to think that someday Aziraphale will stumble across one and be delighted with what the humans have named it, he'll start to call Crawly that too.


	10. Time will tell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you wanna skip any background here's the TLDR
> 
> Egypt: Crawly is there to oversee the rise of the Middle Kingdom, the next great Dynasty of Egyptian Pharaohs and the unification of Egypt. It is the first time Crawly presents female.
> 
> China: Aziraphale is there to oversee the restoration of Xia Dynasty, the foundations of coming dynasties that would ensure that a unified china would hold strong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical notes at the bottom
> 
> Idek how this got so long ngl

Thebes, Egypt. 2047 BCE. End of the First Intermediate Period. Rise of the Middle Kingdom.

Every creature of angel stock, fallen or not, can sense others of their kind to a certain degree. Crawly had spent a little time refining that sense when he’d been an Archangel, enough to tell individuals apart even in a group. Now Crawly had taken the time to try and tune into Aziraphale’s divine energy. Being the only angel on the planet certainly made it easier. However, it was only really refined enough to give Crawly a general sense of Aziraphale being nearer or farther. Without spending time near the angel, he couldn’t fully get a handle on his presence. He could vaguely sense when Aziraphale was in a general area, but he couldn’t pinpoint him at all. They could walk past each other in the streets and Crawly would never be certain.

Regardless, it worked well enough for now to at least avoid going into areas where the presence felt stronger. That had mostly been how he’d operated for the past hundred years, give or take a few years. If he received any sort of assignment that took him anywhere near the angel, he’d find ways to hem and haw his way out of it or make up some story about Aziraphale nearly discorporating him. It was building up a bit of a reputation for the angel at first so now Crawly made sure to balance it out with a few stories of his own near victories. It painted Aziraphale in just the right light, he thought. Tough enough to think twice about directly challenging, and clever enough to give pause to those who might think to outsmart him, but not dangerous enough to warrant any extra attention. However, it was starting to make Crawly himself look a bit bad. Not that he couldn’t lie through his teeth, but Aziraphale seemed to be everywhere these days. At least, everywhere hell wanted him to be, and his lack of success on assignments was starting to warrant undue attention.

So, Crawly was rather caught between a rock and a hard place. (Though currently he was in snake form and sunning himself on a lovely boulder just outside Thebes.)

He supposed he would simply have to be extra sneaky. Find ways to avoid having his description passed around, and especially find ways to avoid Aziraphale seeing him. As much as Crawly loved his long red hair, he had to admit it stood out. Like a bright red sore thumb.

Currently his assignment was to go to Egypt and tempt the Pharaoh Mentuhotep into further campaigns of war. The young king had already laid waste to the Thinite region in retaliation to their attempt at conquering his kingdom. The Thinis people had desecrated the royal necropolis of Abydos in their battles and it had stirred young Mentuhotep into action. 

There was peace, for now, but hell was convinced that with the right prompting, Mentuhotep would gladly drag his people through the muck and murder of unceasing wars in his desire to someday unify Egypt. Hell was most convinced he’d never succeed and the sorrows of his sins would be all the sweeter for it. Crawly had the unique position of knowing humans better than his demonic brethren. For his money, Mentuhotep would certainly go to war, but he’d likely succeed in unifying Egypt. For how long is certainly unclear, but the kings of the south are weakening and the north is too weary from the recent battle to put up much resistance. Mentuhotep also seems to have decent advisors, and he’d survived his incredibly young ascension to the throne. Crawly idly wondered if the young king would even go to hell, he wasn’t sure.

At the very least, the demon consoled himself, his people would deify him and that would certainly bring souls in for hell. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Crawly watched people entering the city of Thebes from his rock, his serpent form allowed him a level of relative safety here. No one would comment on an errant snake. It was then that the thought struck him. Or rather, he had the thought loudly shoved into his mind. A young girl, on the cusp of womanhood shrieked aloud when her little brother stole her wig. She chased after him and demanded he return it. The wig was a lovely blond color with just the very ends of it dyed red. Red dye being obscenely expensive to make, paired with the jewelry the young girl was practically dripping in, made it quite clear how high up in society this family was. It was a very good quality wig too, likely made purely from human hair. It was interwoven with scraps of brightly dyed fabric and glittered with jewels and bits of gold.

Crawly immediately rejected the thought of shaving his head or wearing a wig. However, he could simply style his hair into looking enough like a wig that no one would think twice about it. He smiled gleefully and set off towards the nearby oasis to look himself over in the water.

He shifted into human form as soon as he was in the safety of the verdant foliage. He began weaving into being real woolen fabric but cut himself short. He thought back to the family and wondered if his hair ought to be shorter. No men he’d seen had had a wig longer than their shoulders at most. He frowned, he loved having nice long hair. Even the styling it would undergo to look like a wig had been secretly (not so secretly) distressing him. He looked down at himself and banished the fabric around his hips. 

He stepped closer to the water and looked himself over. His form was slender, very lightly muscled, but willowy. There were hard edges and planes to him that were natural of human men. He watched his long hair brush the just barely there curve of his hip and with a thought, that hip rounded more. His waist tapered a tiny bit more. The planes of his chest softened and rose bud breasts took their place. His hands became just a touch more delicate, his features softened ever so slightly, and his lashes grew just a bit thicker. He glared at his nose, it had become much too small and button like. It hurried to right itself, taking a much closer form to its original Aquiline form, though perhaps a teensy bit less sharp. He, though now that Crawly thought about it she rather fancied that she was a she and that sounded very nice. She was quite pleased with this change. There was hardly a difference really, a softening of harsh edges but she still looked very much like her usual self. Sure, Crawly *could* look like anyone in the world, but she wanted to look like herself.

With that sorted, she set about making clothing and headdresses for herself. As well as undertaking the task of convincing her hair to pretty please look like the human wigs. Yes it’s a bit strange but be a love, there we are. 

Fully decked out in her Egyptian garb, Crawly made her way into Thebes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She’d never really expected her disguise to work so well, yet it had. To the point where humans had seen her eyes, proclaimed her a prophetess of Wadjet and brought her to the Pharaoh and still Aziraphale had not been anywhere near the palace or confronted her. (She pointedly ignored the possibility that he was avoiding her and was very happy that her trick was working so well)

Now, in a position of political power, it became easy to whisper words of war into the Pharaoh’s ear. 

She enjoyed the best of the palace’s comforts for her efforts and was treated as being divine in nature, second only to the Pharaoh. The people claimed her eyes were proof of Wadjet’s blessing. She was hailed for it, Wadjet was the protector of kings and patron of women in childbirth. The king was here and his wife round with his child. They claimed she heralded the beginnings of a truly glorious empire. 

Though, there were those who were deeply against the war and upon hearing of her eyes claimed she was actually Apep in disguise. They cursed her in the streets and claimed she would bring a thousand years of darkness. They said she was the trickster god, here to lead the people blessed by Ra away from the light. Many claimed to have felt an earthquake the day she’d arrived, marking her as Apep.

The Pharaoh and his wife (wives) had welcomed her with open arms, the priests regarded her with wary respect, and the viziers were constantly shifting in their opinions based on their feelings about the war. Crawly didn’t really care which snake deity they chose to claim her for, she supposed Apep was closer to the truth as far as her employers were concerned, but what mattered was the opportunities it had brought. For once, her eyes had been a blessing and not a curse.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Soon enough Crawly became aware of Aziraphale’s meddling. The Pharaoh had come to her with a heavy heart, claimed a kindly man, well respected in the community, had chided him for his efforts to unify his people. That the man had told him his greed would be his downfall and that his hunger for power would leave his people broken in trying to carry its weight. That the people who’d heard had raised complaints that the man was right and asked what justice it was to send their sons to fight and die for a ridiculous dream?

The pharaoh looked like a child sitting so forlornly in front of her, his kohl lined eyes downcast and his hands clutching the skirt of her Kalasiri. He looked nothing like the 20-something year old warrior king who’d stood before her when she’d first come to the palace, strong and proud with honor and nobility practically radiating off of him. He looked like a lost babe. To Crawly with her millennia old soul, he might as well have been a toddler.

Crawly contained her fury and soothed the boy as best she could. Hell couldn’t hear her, so if she told him that his desire to unify his people, bring them together in peace as brothers, was kind and noble, that was no one’s business but her own. If she gently reminded him that he’d done everything for his people, and not out of self interest, that he had fought alongside his loyal soldiers on the front line, well who was there to say?

She walked with the Pharaoh to the dining room and weaseled answers out of him. Where had the kindly man been when they met? What was his position in the community to be so well respected?

She plotted and planned. She could use this, she realized with a sudden pleasure. It would serve both her needs quite nicely, she chuckled to herself and the Pharaoh looked at her with questioning eyes. She felt a pang in her heart and patted his cheek, cursing her softness for children. Even children trapped in the bodies of 20-something kings.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Crawly set her plan in motion over the following week. Having obtained information on where in the city the angel lived, she convinced the Pharaoh to hold an event there. She told him it would be a good chance to let the people voice their complaints and have them addressed. The people had asked why their sons should go to war? Give them an answer, an honest answer, see how they might refute you then. 

She followed at a distance, watching the procession of the Pharaoh and the battalion that fought directly under him and acted as his guards. She kept herself well hidden in the shadows of the market stalls as the event wore on. 

Waiting, watching. There! There was that familiar curl of white starlight hair she’d been searching for. She’d begun to worry that the angel wouldn’t show. She gave him a few minutes to start his questions. She could nearly predict them word for word. A script from heaven probably, given their lack of imagination. She slithered into the crowd and began to work her best magic, the kind that needed not a drop of hellish power. 

She wove in between people, dropping ideas and whispering in ears. The crowd’s mood began to shift and change as she danced among them, weaving chaos. The crowd began to turn on the man, who was this man who objected so vehemently to their divine Pharaoh’s plans? Who was he to challenge the mandate of the gods? This man who held nothing of their customs and was a stranger in this town naught but a few months ago?

Really that last bit had hardly been Crawly at all, the crowd had already held some dislike for how resistant Aziraphale was to adopt their fashions. It marked him as alien and other. Made it easier to turn them against him. 

Now came part 2 of her dastardly plan. She broke from the crowd and knew exactly where to look. At the edges of the market were those she sought. 

She came to them in an unhurried gait, and walked among the smaller crowd. This time the whispers came in a softer voice, pleading. Won’t someone help the kindly man who only thought to spare our children a violent death? Won’t someone help this man who knows so little of our ways and yet loves us so dearly as his neighbors? The smaller crowd began to walk collectively and Crawly pulled away from them as well. 

She watched from her new perch on window of a second story home. The smaller crowd pulling Aziraphale away, worried mothers convincing him to let it go. One or two taking the foods Crawly had bought and handing them to the angel in bundles for what was to come. A few others in the crowd began bundling up things and telling Aziraphale he needed to leave the city, lest he draw the ire of the other citizens. She watched them plead with the angel, saw how he looked over his shoulder at the larger and agrier mob, and finally, finally, relent. 

She didn’t miss how he seemed to scan the town and crowds intently. She tried not to let it matter. She didn’t stay to watch him leave. Content that she’d accomplished her goals. The people were more firmly than ever in support of the Pharaoh, and Aziraphale was extra safe. He wouldn’t even be in the same city as her anymore!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aziraphale

Aziraphale followed the sounds of a gathered crowd from where he’d been meditating. He adjusted the slightly itchy but not really itchy just kind of strange feeling material made of heavenly light. They were the same ascetic robes he’d been wearing since he’d returned to earth. He was rather surprised he wasn’t used to the feeling of them yet.

He was rather shocked to find Mentuhotep in the marketplace, listening to the common people and answering their questions. Heaven had made him out to be an uncaring ruler with little regard for the welfare of his people. 

He straightened his clothing and made his way into the crowd, pausing when he caught just a taste of what felt like… no certainly not. Crawly couldn’t be here. Aziraphale prided himself on keeping a keen eye on his surroundings, as well as being well informed. Surely _**someone**_ would have said something about a young man with far too bright red hair that cascaded down his back like waves and snake eyes of pure molten gold. He would have heard it and known. Just as he had every time someone had spotted Crawly near one of the towns he was assigned to. Crawly seemed to be actively avoiding him anyway, so Aziraphale dismissed the thought out of hand. He’d never been very good at differentiating energy signatures so he couldn’t know for sure who else was here, if there even was someone else here. Sometimes enough human belief could manifest strange things.

He finally stood before the young Pharaoh and began his line of questioning. He was doing well enough at first, his questions were firm and unyielding and the crowd was on his side. Even when he was caught off guard by Mentuhotep’s answers he was able to stick to the script heaven had given him. Then something began to change, he could feel the mood of the crowd start to shift. He couldn’t feel any spike of demon or angelic energy, but the entire crowd began to turn against him. 

He felt, for a brief moment, that presence again, and he began to look around desperately. If Crawly was here he _**needed**_ to know. He cursed silently, every time some noble walked by with a red wig. Never the right shade, never anywhere close, but just red enough to fool him into looking twice. 

He saw it, just a flash out of the corner of his eye. He _**knew**_ that shade of hair. He only just caught a glimpse of black fabric as it disappeared into the crowd. 

Not even a full minute later he was being pulled away from the large crowd and into the safety of the small group of mothers and widows he’d been helping. He looked around frantically and then he finally saw.

He saw Crawly, in women’s garb, their form altered to be more feminine. She had her head turned up towards something, one of the women blocked his view for only a moment and when he looked again, Crawly was gone.

She was a vision and that vision was permanently seared into Aziraphale’s mind. Crawly was always beautiful, but she had never been adorned like that before. She looked like a goddess with all the beautiful accoutrements befitting a deity of beauty, love, lust, and fertility. Golden bracelets, arm bands, and anklets made her already radiant skin glow even as they paled in comparison to her eyes, the shine of black fabric stark against the red of her hair, pleated in big braids and studded with gems. The black kohl only deepened the hypnotic hold her eyes had over him, and the reddened lips beckoned him, he wondered if they would be redder after being thoroughly kissed. 

He let the townspeople bundle him up and out of Thebes, putting up a token protest. He deeply considered, for a moment, demanding to stay so he could find Crawly, but he knew this was perhaps for the best. He knew Crawly had been staying away from the places he’d been blessing for the most part up until now, it’d made him look pretty good up in heaven. He’d let this one go, if only as unspoken thanks for the gift Crawly had given him of allowing him to see her like that. 

If he were a worse angel he might allow himself to imagine peeling away that fabric and taking her whilst she wore naught but her jewelry and make up. Instead he tucks away the memory and silently thanks the almighty for the Egyptians. He looks at his hands and realizes that in his slightly daydreamy state he’d left the city with everything he’d been handed. Including a few bundles of food. He opens one in curiosity and nearly weeps to see the honeyed bread he’d told Crawly about the last time they were in Egypt. It was miracled, he could tell just by holding it. A gift from the pretty demon masquerading as a goddess.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Northern China 2029 BCE Along the Yellow River

The next time Aziraphale catches the hint of that presence he’s on high alert. He was acting as tutor to the young Shao Kang, last heir of the Xia dynasty. He was supposed to be encouraging the 18 year old prince to be a good and wise ruler for the day when he would take back his throne and restore the Xia Dynasty. However, currently the prince was more invested in courting his fiancee than paying attention to his stuffy tutor. 

He focuses on the presence and tries to judge where it is. He’s not very good at it, but he’s persistent and manages to catch hints of it near the area where his young pupil spends his time doing training exercises. Currently Shao Kang is off waxing poetic to his bride to be about her beauty and Aziraphale follows the whispers of power to the training area. 

Crawly isn’t there, but there is a small basket. The basket has a little note attached to it written in Cuneiform on papyrus, it reads simply ‘let us break bread’ in a slightly unsteady hand. 

He opens the small basket and finds a small ration of honeyed bread from Egypt, a small skin filled with beer, some candied dates, and some seasoned and roasted meat. It’s warm and he can practically smell the cook fire off of it. Crawly had come straight from Egypt it seems, though looking around it was clear the firebrand was no longer here. 

Underneath the lovely meal, of which he devoured every single morsel ravenously (he hadn’t eaten in years, the last thing he’d eaten was the food gifted to him on his departure from Thebes after all, it was rude to deny a gift and surely not gluttony), he found another note. This one read ‘the pharaoh is a nice boy’ he chuckled softly, Crawly seemed to have a bit of trouble with human writing, strange for a creature who seemed to take to spoken languages so easily. Crawly never had an accent when picking up a new language, he often spoke it as fluently as a native very quickly. He packed up the little basket and took it back to his abode. It was time for a meeting with his Prince and the Tribe leader to discuss strategy.

He still wore his ascetic robes, though he’d accepted a fur cloak from the prince’s family and shoes for his feet. They were given as gifts and surely it would be rude to deny such heartfelt sentiments. The same could be said for the pieces of papyrus now hidden in the folds of his cloak and the basket that he’d carefully packed his meager worldly possessions into.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

This pattern continued over the next 12 years that Aziraphale stayed with Shao Kang, under his guidance and the guidance of those around him the boy grew to a fair, just, and reasonable ruler. The young prince was swiftly becoming a master strategist as well as a charismatic leader. He deferred to his advisors, and especially to Aziraphale who’d been with him since early childhood. (Shao Kang had been his assignment immediately after Thebes, he’d been born 2047 and Aziraphale showed up as the tutor in 2043 when the boy was 4.) 

Aziraphale had a deeply paternal love for the boy and was chuffed to bits that he’d helped shape such an obedient and morally good person who would surely lead his country and kin to better and brighter things.

Over those 12 years, Crawly would occasionally reach out with his essence ever so slightly. Just enough that Aziraphale would catch the hint of spices, smoke, and cinnamon on the wind and follow it to the same training grounds. Where he inevitably found something waiting for him. Often it was food, once or twice it had been several sheets of Papyrus bundled together with Crawly’s shaky handwriting transcribing some story he’d heard, a few times it had been soft linens that had been perfumed for more pleasant sleeping (Aziraphale was certainly not disappointed that the perfume was fairly soft and not at all the dark heady thing that clung to Crawly), and there’d even been a few desert flowers that were lovely. The flowers smelled more like Crawly and he’d promptly placed them on his pillow where they miraculously survived for nearly a month. 

There was very little to actually keep outside of the occasional bit of cloth and scraps of papyrus, it all still fit neatly into the basket Crawly had left him before. Now most of the food came wrapped in little rags that doubled as napkins. He doubted Crawly intended for him to keep the small scraps, but they were lovely for mending things. 

There seemed to be little rhyme or reason to these visits, sometimes they came in rapid succession just a few days or a week apart, other times there would be nothing for months. It made it hard for Aziraphale to reciprocate whatever this was. He couldn’t simply leave items out in the open for anyone to see or take, and he had no idea when Crawly would return. He hadn’t seen the demon since that day in Thebes and it hurt a little to be so strangely close and yet so far. The longer it went on the more Aziraphale wished he were just that little bit faster, that he could catch the demon and ask why the pretty thing was leaving him… gifts? Offerings? What were they? They meant something, they were thoughtful and all things he’d loved before the flood. Things he had indulged and had a deep appreciation for.

The puzzling grew to be so great that one day, towards the end of the 10th year, he sought out his charge and turned his hypotheticals onto him. He kept the details vague but was able to get the gist of it across.

His charge had mused on the question, with only the very little information Aziraphale had given him, that someone had been wronged and that person was now bringing some kind of present to the person who had wronged them. Shao Kang had asked for time and it took him three days to come up with his answer.

“Tributes.” Came the gruff voice from behind Aziraphale.

“Pardon Prince?” The angel answered, turning to face the man beside him.

“The answer to your question,” Shao Kang frowned, “Is tributes.”

“Tributes? Why do you say that?”

“That is what Han Zhuo is demanding of the people he wronged, he demands they pay him tributes. That was the lesson was it not? That a ruler should not demand to be taken care of by his subject, rather a ruler should care for his subjects. Han Zhuo takes these tributes into his coffers and spends them on his depravities, meanwhile children starve in the street. Am I wrong teacher?”

“Not at all, you’ve hit the nail on the head as they say.” Aziraphale smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. He supposed he should have expected that. With how little he’d been willing to give up in details, Shao Kang must have thought it a moral riddle. He thanked the prince and sent him off. Tributes were of course evil when done the way Han Zhuo did them, and he was glad that Shao Kang had taken something meaningful from the experiment, but it left a bitter taste in his mouth. The idea that Crawly was giving him gifts as a means to pacify him, so as not to be attacked again. As if Crawly had had any influence on what had happened, as if it had been the demon’s fault that---- oh.

It all clicked into place suddenly for Aziraphale, Crawly had somehow gone and gotten the idea that they were to blame for the way their last encounter had gone. They might not be giving him tribute in fear, that much was clear, but... They blamed themselves for the horror Aziraphale had bestowed on them and was apologizing, trying to appease the angel and somehow perhaps bring things back into equilibrium. Aziraphale smiled, poor sweet perfect and foolish demon. No one else in the world could be as perfectly wonderful as the firebrand. Aziraphale had effectively attacked the poor dear and here was proof positive that the demon was trying to please him. 

Aziraphale felt his worldview shift a little more, Crawly deserved the truth he decided. They at least deserved to know why they’d been attacked. If it meant saying goodbye to the firebrand permanently, and only ever watching them from the shadows to keep them safe, Aziraphale would do just that. Crawly had become too precious to him. He had to do what was best for the fiery demon. He would tell them the first chance he got. Whenever he was finally released from this blasted post, he would go and find the redhead and tell them everything, every last fucked up detail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentuhotep II was the young Pharaoh who ended the First Intermediate Period and began the Middle Kingdom, this reign of peace and unity lasted roughly 400 years. He successfully united Egypt and became sort of deified by his people, whether or not he was actually a good guy is lost to history but his people thought of him as such.
> 
> Wadjet is the serpent goddess of protection, specifically of Kings and women in childbirth. She is often depicted at the side of Mat and was widely worshipped even prior to the Middle Kingdom
> 
> Apep is the serpent god of trickery, darkness, and chaos. He first became popular during the middle kingdom when stories of him attempting to kill Ra were really expanded upon and became more incorporated into the mythos. 
> 
> I really enjoyed the concept of Crawly's eyes marking them as touched by the gods but you just never really know *which* god. I might expand on that sometime? Maybe make a little offshoot fic where I further go into details about their adventures outside the fic.
> 
> Kalasiri are traditional linen dresses worn by women in the middle kingdom, they are essentially a bedsheet folded up to hang nicely.
> 
> Wigs were extremely important, everyone who wasn't a slave had their heads shaved for cleanliness and status reasons, so everyone also wore wigs. Primarily they were black, but among nobility they were often brightly colored or at least blond. For status. Cleopatra famously wore blue wigs. Wigs were good for shade and not getting lice.
> 
> Kohl was used as much for make up as for keeping the sun out of your eyes!
> 
> Lip tints were most likely made from crushed carmine beetles and possibly henna! Cleopatra wore red lip tint made from carmine beetles and ants crushed together into a paste that would then be mixed with an emulsifier.
> 
> Red wigs were an extreme symbol of wealth as red dye is notoriously hard to find and make.
> 
> Bread and Beer were very common even pre-middle kingdom, though they look next to nothing like their modern counterparts. The beer was said to be kind unpleasant and more for it's hearty and nourishing quality.
> 
> Honeyed bread was a very popular treat along with honeyed (candied) dates.
> 
> Shao Kang and the rest of the Xia dynasty are somewhat of a toss-up as far as having actually existed or not. It's possible that such a family did exist, but any writing we have about them comes from much later after their era, so it is likely exaggerated. They are somewhat deified as well in their own culture.
> 
> Shao Kang was revered by the later dynasties, especially in how he ruled. Some people speculate that stories of Shao Kang helped set some of the ideas about the Mandate of Heaven (freedom to over throw corrupt rulers)
> 
> Shao Kang was born 2047, 2047 was the same year Mentuhotep led a campaign against the Thinis for their desecration of the Acropolys, fun fact.


	11. Gods and Reunions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crawly is mistaken for the Goddess persephone in Greece, Aziraphale is sent to investigate the claims of a goddess on earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes this is another longish one. I love Greek mythology and culture so this will not be our only foray into Greece.
> 
> Historical notes at the bottom. 
> 
> . The TLDR for the time period is that it’s the formative years of Greece (roughy 1000 before classical Greece and Homer), it’s pretty egalitarian, and the religion is just barely starting. Though I will use classical greek terms for simplicity. 
> 
> Persephone is both a goddess of fertility and death and Hades is a god of death and wealth. The couple is representative of the duality of death and rebirth in all its forms. Furthermore, the symbol of Persephone is the pomegranate, a fruit that is often claimed to be the fruit of knowledge in the christian tradition. Later depictions of Persephone often give her vibrant red hair like fire and flowers. In some descriptions Hades is said to have hair as white as bones and eyes like the styx. I chose to interpret this as blue eyes. 
> 
> “And while you are here, you shall rule all that lives and moves and shall have the greatest rights among the deathless gods : those who defraud you and do not appease your power with offerings, reverently performing rites and paying fit gifts, shall be punished for evermore.” Hades’ vow to Persephone. Homeric Hymn ‘The Rape of Persephone’ 
> 
> Also, Crawly, and I, play hard and loose with the pronoun game for him/her/them this chapter as (s)he is really playing with their gender expression in a relatively short time frame. 
> 
> These are the images that inspired Crawly's look for the chapter https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Persephone#/media/File:AMI_-_Isis-Persephone.jpg  
https://owlcation.com/social-sciences/Persephone

Mainland Greece: 1979 BCE Rise of the Middle Helladic Period (Middle Bronze Age of Greece)

Crawly left Thebes in 2018 BCE, she’d helped cement Mentuhotep’s rule and really at this point she’d been more of an accessory than an advisor after the wars had been won. They’d bounced around Egypt and Nubia as both male and female, always greeted as a being blessed by one of the 2 serpent gods. It seemed she was more likely to be given the title of Wadjet’s chosen when she took on a female form so that was what she wore most often. However, he rather enjoyed the posing as male in smaller towns along the coasts where he didn’t have to wear his hair as if in a wig, content to play the foreigner from far away lands. However, hell had determined that they’d been there too long. In 1996 BCE they’d been tasked with making their way through the Mediterranean towards Greece. On the way they were instructed to stop in several places, drop temptations or whisper ideas. Nothing big, but just a little sprinkling of chaos. They made their way from Egypt up through modern day Saudi Arabia, sauntered their way through Mesopotamia, cutting across modern day Turkey and finally taking a rather long and uncomfortable boat ride to mainland Greece, mostly in snake form. Between hells side quests, his own desire to explore, and popping in to drop off gifts wherever Aziraphale happened to be at the moment, he’d taken almost a decade to finally reach Greece. 

It had become a lot easier for Crawly to pinpoint the angel, at least over large distances. He still had difficulty with getting exact positions down. He would do his usual recon, figure out where Aziraphale was stationed and drop off whatever goodies he had for the angel before making a hasty retreat. He wasn’t entirely sure if Aziraphale even liked the gifts, but he hoped it was building some sort of goodwill with him. He knew realistically that eventually they’d end up in the same city and there was no guarantee Crawly would be able to come up with a solution to keep them away from each other. Nor, if he was being entirely honest with himself, did he want to. He wanted to someday be able to be able to talk to the angel with the easy camaraderie of before.

Settling down in Greece had been a rather long process as well, even after sending off a missive to hell to let them know he’d arrived, it took them nearly 5 years to finally get back to him, during which time he’d become a she again and had settled down in a nice little home an hour or so walk from the town of Lerna. 

She’d been tasked with encouraging paganism to really set its foot down in Greece, and hell had sent her a commendation for the revived belief in a fading fertility goddess named Persephone and tasked her with amassing a cult following for the goddess. Hell seemed to assume that she’d somehow done something to convince people that the goddess was walking among them. They didn’t know Crawly was currently female and, unbeknownst to even herself, was a rather good match for the fabled descriptions of the Goddess Persephone. 

Reading over the commendation had made her curious and she ventured into town in the guise of a snake. She reached out softly with her magic to get the humans to talk about her. The basics of it seemed to be her unnaturally bright red hair and the fact that she’d never been to town for any reason. No one had seen her buy food or cloth or pottery or anything. She’d appeared one day seemingly with nothing but the clothes on her back and some strange jewelry. The abandoned home was suddenly repaired and furnished overnight, and that had been their first inkling of something supernatural occurring.

It had not helped her case when she’d spent a few miracles growing the plants that surrounded her home and making them wild and vibrant. She couldn’t help herself, the land was so fertile and green in a way the desert wasn’t. She’d even brought the fruit trees to bear, and a few of them were Pomegranate trees. It wasn’t easy, she’d learned over time that plants didn’t respond to her like they used to and she didn’t have the first clue about human gardening, so miracles it was. The pomegranate trees had sealed her fate and convinced the villagers that she was Persephone pretending to be human.

Seeing a once abandoned home suddenly spring up and flourish with the full force of nature had sent the rumor mill flying, and Crawly’s fiery hair had only served to further the whispers. It suddenly made sense why in the past 2 years that she’d taken up residence in the cottage no one had dared approach her or the house to see what was going on. Well, it seemed this would be an easy enough job then, she already had a head start without even trying! She’d played enough prophetesses and prophets in Egypt, the only issue might be her eyes. She didn’t know enough about this goddess but she felt safe to wager a guess that Persephone probably didn’t have snake eyes. Still, she mused, she could borrow some traditions from other places. If she wore a veil she could shade her eyes and simply *suggest* that the humans were seeing perfectly normal eyes. Yes, this would work nicely.

She miracled a loom into existence in the corner of her home, she didn’t know how they worked but she expected it to make her a beautiful veil and so it did. The veil was quite a marvel, black as night with a pattern of flowers that were even darker than the base fabric. She selected one of the few trinkets she’d kept from her time in Egypt, a small disk of gold with a red Carnelian inlaid in the center. She used it to fasten the top of her veil to her hair so that it draped just so, and created deep shadows over her eyes. She looked into the polished copper mirror she’d brought along from Egypt, she played with a lock of her hair and encouraged it to curl tighter into ringlets as was the custom of Greek women. 

She stepped out of her home and made her way through her garden, making a show of encouraging the flowers to bloom as if by magic. She felt more than saw the humans who were nearby watch her. Not many were out and about this far from town, only a few shepherds, but she figured that might actually work in her favor and pretended to look around and not see the young boys hiding among the White Poplar trees. She tucked up her dress and made her way into town, giggling to herself.

Her trip into town had served to further cement her into rumor, she allowed her powers to reach out just enough to make the flowers bloom a tiny bit as she passed, she spoke only to merchants and purchased only the finest meats, the freshest fruits and vegetables, the most beautifully dyed skeins of wool. Then she left, made sure enough people were watching as she disappeared from sight with a miracle.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Within a few months the entire town of Lerna was abuzz with the swirling rumors of a patron goddess. Their harvests were more bountiful, their animals more fertile, and the women had easier child bearings. 

Offerings began to appear at her doorstep, she’d not been to the market since that first time and had had no shortage of anything. She’d taken to eating and cooking simply to not waste everything brought to her. 

The best foods were given to her, the fattest lamb slaughtered and the most tender parts presented, the best products of their weavers, the best of their harvests, and the artisans brought her their finest pottery and jewelry. 

Really she had no one to blame but herself when heaven decided to intervene. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A knock at her door heralded her doom.

She stepped out into her courtyard to see a small gathering of children on their knees as if in supplication. One young girl inched forward wailing and clutched the skirts of her Peplos with trembling hands.

“Please my lady you must hide! Your lord husband approaches and we dare not stop him from taking you!” She cried and tugged on her skirts.

“You can’t go my lady!” Another child sobbed

“Please stay with us my lady!” “My mother will give birth soon please my lady!” “Our crops will wither my lady!” “Please my lady our animals!” The chorus of children began grabbing at her skirts and taking her hands and pulling her away from her door.

“Shhhh shhh shhh, children what are you -” She felt a familiar ping of angelic energy, she couldn’t tell exactly how far it was and she hadn’t been looking for it so it had to be close, paired with the timing the whole thing made her suspicious suddenly. “What do you mean husband dear hearts?” She soothed as many as she could with pats but resisted their ever more frantic tugs.

“Lord Hades approaches to carry you away my lady!” Spoke the same young girl who seemed to be their ringleader. 

She didn’t know enough about the lore of Persephone, she had no clue who Hades was or what had sparked this whole thing. She hoped she could get this sorted quickly and just hide in her home from the angel.

“It’s too late!” Came the despaired moan from one of the children. She looked up and saw the strangest procession of her life. The villagers were crowded around the fence of her home, Aziraphale at their head with a crown of Wolf’s-Bane and Asphodel and a black wool cloak clasped about his shoulders.

Yellow eyes met electric blue.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aziraphale: Greece 1979 BCE

Aziraphale had been seeking Crawly out off and on since he’d left China in 2017BCE. He’d gone straight to Thebes only to learn that Crawly had left nearly a year before. He spent a few months there, hoping Crawly might return or seek him out and they could talk, but heaven had other plans. They gave him several assignments that had him nearly constantly traveling. He went everywhere and the blessings were all minor and rather felt like busy work. A blessing here to ensure a Nubian merchant made it into port with all their cargo during a storm, another blessing to ensure a mother in Sumer would have enough food to feed her children, one in Japan with a Jomun tribe to ensure they would find enough game and wild forageables to survive the winter, a blessing for a tribe in Mexico along the gulf coast for a bountiful catch of fish. All in all they were nice gestures, but also the sort of frivolous miracles heaven normally looked down on. Heaven had been running him near ragged to get through all these tiny miracles often having to hoof it from one end of the world to the other. He was deeply gratified to find that Crawly seemed to be able to always find him no matter where he was, and always left him little gifts from wherever they happened to be at the moment.

Uriel had popped down for a visit at one point when Aziraphale was in South America and Aziraphale had managed to get an answer out of her. The answer didn’t exactly satisfy him but it did confirm that he was basically just being given busy work. 

Officially, heaven’s stance currently was that there was no great demonic influence in any particular place. It was relatively peaceful and this was the time to simply spread some good around to push humanity in the right direction on a subtle but large scale. Unofficially heaven had no real plans for humanity at the moment and apparently hell didn’t either. 

Aziraphale would bet all his worldly possessions that Gabriel had been the one to push for all these minor miracles, if he weren’t an angel. He suspected that perhaps Gabriel had been worried that the extended assignment in China might bring back those human indulgences. However, it hardly mattered now, officially Aziraphale was sanctioned to eat and keep human things, this had happened because Aziraphale had nearly caused an incident by refusing to eat at a feast he’d been invited to after a blessing. The locals had nearly discorporated and heaven decided that if he had to eat to fit in and not get discorporated, then there was no alternative. Aziraphale may have stretched the truth the smallest bit about how violently humans took offense to others not eating.

His latest assignment at least was full of promise. There were apparently rumors of a goddess blessing a village in Greece, and as heaven was not involved they decided it would be up to Aziraphale to investigate and report in. Heaven wasn’t 100% sure that hell was involved, but the sudden increase in prayers to a goddess named Persephone and the whispers of her walking among humans had prompted the assignment.

He didn’t know much about the gods of this area, and really the only thing he knew about this goddess was that she was some kind of fertility goddess and associated with fruits, plants, and spring. However, he knew that Greece was a lovely place and he’d discerned from Crawly’s more recent gifts that the demon might be somewhere in this area. If so, he could search for the firebrand and deal with the assignment all at once.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aziraphale stopped at a village about half a day from the town of Lerna where the rumors were centered on. He noted the stares from the people but tried his best to keep his head down and made his way to the marketplace. He acquired a proper chiton made of soft linen and a snazzy pair of sandals, the merchant had simply thrust it into his hand and begged him to take it, it was really quite kind. People continued staring and whispering but he ignored it. He made his way over to a merchant and tried to strike up a conversation about the rumors of Persephone, the merchant bowed his head and refused to look him in the eye. He muttered ‘Lerna’ over and over in between chants of ‘please’ and ‘not yet’. He was a strange fellow.

He asked around to see if he could find a place to stay for the night, hoping that sharing dinner with his host would shed some light on his assignment. Many people offered their homes but seemed terrified of him when doing so. A rather wealthy merchant from the coast of Turkey approached him and led him to his home for the night, completely unafraid. 

Aziraphale questioned his host but the man wasn’t entirely sure of the way the town had reacted to him, they were used to foreigners given the amount of merchants coming and going. When the angels questions turned to Persephone the man had very little insight.

“I hear rumors of a goddess that walks in Lerna, blesses their harvests and makes their lambs grow fat. I don’t know this goddess, the Greek gods are still somewhat alien to me.” He was from Anatolia (modern Turkey) and gestured toward the small statue of Ishtar. “I know only that the rumors began a few months ago, though if you believe what the farmers of Lerna say, then their goddess has been there for years.”

Aziraphale thanked him for his help and turned in for the night. He’d been rather hopeful to learn more about this goddess, maybe learn more of her mythos. Admittedly, despite his love for learning and human words, it was a touch difficult to keep the near endless gods of the Egyptians, Chinese, and Mesopotamians straight as it was, he’d not paid much attention to other cultures as he’d spent far less time with them. This was the first time he’d ever even set foot on Grecian soil.

He set off for Lerna in the morning and arrived shortly after midday.

Lerna was bustling as he’d approached, he pulled the white cloak he’d been using to shield himself from the sun off of his head as he entered the town center. The whole world suddenly fell silent, it unnerved him deeply as the townspeople all seemed to stare in horror at him. Old heavenly training kicked in.

“Ahem -- Be not afraid!” He proclaimed, though it felt foolish to do so when not in angelic form, “I am looking for the goddess Persephone!” 

That broke the people out of their stupor and suddenly he was surrounded by people crowding into his space. He could hardly make out their individual voices as all of them spoke at once overlapping one another. He vaguely noticed a small group of children pull away from the group and run off.

He found himself manhandled and corralled towards the center of town. A weaver came forward and several women helped pin a cloak as black as pitch about his shoulders, a group of younger women came forward weaving together purple and white flowers into a crown that they placed atop his head. The people seemed determined to some goal unknown to Aziraphale and they refused to speak to him directly.

Adorned and lightly perfumed with oils, Aziraphale was pushed along a road leading a strange procession of deathly silent people who simply kept pushing him forward.

He heard the children from earlier and his head snapped up when he caught that delicious scent of smoke and spices, wildflowers and cinnamon. 

Molten gold eyes met blue.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Crawly was just as beautiful in this incarnation as the last; her black peplos clung to her curves and flowed like water, her delicate veil made a moonless night background for fiery locks curled into ringlets that brushed her waist, and even in shadows Aziraphale could see those eyes of molten gold staring back at him. Her pink lips had no rouge but he felt the need to redden them with hungry kisses, to feel their softness against his own. He perfectly understood why the humans had seen this vision of beauty and declared her a goddess of fertility. 

The children from before surrounded Crawly, they formed a semi circle around her. They backed away slowly whilst bowing.

A man, possibly the village elder, spoke in a reverent tone; “Our Lady Persephone has blessed our home for two long and prosperous years. Now her lord husband Hades comes up from the underworld to return his beloved queen to his side! We celebrate your union lord and lady! Please allow us to make tribute and offering to you!”

Aziraphale looked back at Crawly, thankfully she took the hint and the lead.

“We thank you good sir, please then, leave us and return at dawn with your offerings.” 

The villagers bowed and began to back away, some were crying and sobbing, others rejoicing.

Crawly beckoned Aziraphale into her home.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aziraphale watched her flit about the hearth, setting down pillows and cloths on the previously bare wooden couch (a very primitive version) and made it comfortable. She gestured for him to sit and rushed off to another room. He settled onto the seat and surreptitiously sniffed the cloths to catch more of Crawly’s scent.

She returned with a smaller couch and arranged herself on it somewhat stiffly, she’d taken off the veil and now tucked a stray curl behind her ear.

“What um… what brings you here ang- um Aziraphale?” 

“I’ve come to worship a goddess.” He deadpanned with a wink. Crawly flushed prettily and gawked at him open mouthed, spluttering. He held up his hands with a soft chuckle in a sign of peace, “Heaven sent me, apparently they feared demonic forces were at work. However, I’m much more interested in how you ended up here playing a goddess. I’m also interested to know who Hades is and why the humans think I am him.” He knew that he still had to tell Crawly the truth, but he figured that could wait for a moment.

Crawly sighed and long fingers fiddled with the edges of her peplos, raising her skirts just a tiny bit to reveal an enticing sliver of the skin of her delicate ankles. Which really, Aziraphale berated himself, was just foolish when he’d seen the demon in less clothing before. 

A small voice cheerily informed him that no matter what the demon wore they would always be enticing. He promptly shoved the voice away. 

“It was sort of an accident.” Crawly spoke, pink lips twisting into a pout.  
“You were accidentally deified?” His demon was quite possibly the most entertaining and amusing thing on the entire planet.

“I didn’t know they had some fertility goddess with red hair now did I!? How was I to know? I’d spent decades in Egypt! And and and there was the blasted pomegranate trees outside and apparently those are a symbol of this goddess and well it just sort of happened!” She gesticulated wildly and finished with a huff and a pout. Aziraphale’s amused expression only deepened the pout into a scowl.

“And this Hades business?” He pressed.

She clicked her tongue, “That I don’t know, I haven’t spent much time learning about this goddess’ history and myths beyond the basics.” She frowned and furrowed her brow, “although I think… I think Hades is the god of death?” 

“Death?”

“And wealth if I’m not mistaken. Again, I mostly focused on the goddess I was meant to be playing but you pick up bits and pieces of other gods just by being in the same space as humans.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips and fiddled with the clasp of his black cloak. Mind working as he desperately searched his memory for any tidbit about Greek gods.

“Your flowers,” Crawly announced, bringing his attention fully back to her “they symbolize death. I think I’m right, angel, the humans think you’re the god of death.”

“They also think I’m your husband.” Crawly flushed and Aziraphale wanted to find out how low it went on her chest. 

“Ye-esss, I sssuposse they do. Musst be part of her mythology I didn’t know about.” Crawly’s words grew more sibilant and Aziraphale could feel her nervousness growing. 

At this point he was growing tense himself, he didn’t think he would truly feel comfortable until he cleared the air. After all, what was the point of making plans or schemes if there was the chance that Crawly would demand he leave after he told her or disappeared herself after the truth was out? He nodded to himself resolutely.

“Crawly… dear…” He began, waited until those hypnotic eyes were on him “I think it’s time we had a talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helladic (Bronze Age on mainland Greece [not to be confused with Hellenic Greece]) Greece was considered a time of cultural decline and we don’t have a lot left of the time as far as records go, essentially making it pre-history. What little we have comes mostly from sites such as Lerna and the graves therein. We know that there is evidence for a fairly egalitarian society given the intra-mural burials and the only real distinction as far as gender is concerned seems to be along the division of labor rather than any social status. This of course comes from evidence on the skeletons found in the graves. Other than a slight difference in stress marks indicating heavier manual labor among men, we don’t see too much that would dictate very specialized differences. We know from ruins and pottery that homes were often U shaped with a hearth in the courtyard as well as a special inner chamber for a hearth in the home. Often these homes had 3 rooms and were 1-story tall. They even had porches!
> 
> Persephone is a Chthonic god that predates most of the Pan-Hellenic pantheon, she is thought to be pre-greek (and pre-helladic) in origin. Her oldest known names (and the biggest indicators of her being Pre-greek) are Perswa, Persa, Persephassa, and Kore. For simplicity I am calling the deity Persephone, though the name is not likely to have come about until the 10th century BCE or later. Likewise Chthonic god Hades is also thought to be pre-greek in origin. His oldest names are Awides or Aidodeus but I will refer to the deity as Hades, that name too is thought to come sometime in the 10th century BCE or later. 
> 
> A peplos is a traditional Greek dress for women, again it's basically a sheet held up with pins. Same thing with chitons for men, except the peplos would have been floor length and chitons would come down to your knee at the longest.
> 
> Asphodels are sacred to Hades and were often given in sacrifice/tribute to him. Wolfsbane is a poison and often associated with death rites. Both are native to Greece.
> 
> Furniture was very simplistic at this point, there is some debate as to exactly what these primitive couches might have looked like as there is very little surviving evidence of them.


	12. Winter Solstice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The talk and the festival of the Winter Solstice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, it was a very busy time for me the past few weeks but it's here! I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> So quickie notes, the poetry doesn't sound like a song despite being sung, this is because it's written in a close approximation to Kletic hymns and Greek poetic styles, so the pacing is slightly different. 
> 
> A lot of research went into this, so I hope that it's fairly fluid. 
> 
> Historical notes at the bottom.
> 
> Thank you for your patience guys! <3

Crowley nodded gravely and stood from her perch. Muttering under her breath about alcohol and food. Aziraphale waited patiently for her return. He looked out to see the night sky, the days were getting shorter and the nights longer.

She pulled a few bottles of wine out of a cabinet and stopped to gather cooked meats and pieces of unleavened bread. Once everything was arranged to her liking, both she and Aziraphale tucked up in layers of warm wool, she motioned for him to continue.

Aziraphale all but ripped the top off the bottle and took a deep draught. He steadied himself and, for once, ignored the food in front of him.

“I was looking for you. I have been for a few decades. I’d hoped to have this talk much sooner.” 

Crawly grimaced “Sssorry, I didn’t know.”

“I know but, there really wasn’t any way for me to contact you and you never stayed to talk so I could only try to find you instead, and I did try. However, heaven suddenly had me running so many frivolous miracles that it was nigh impossible to track you down when I was galavanting from one end of the world to the other. I do wish we could have seen each other sooner.”

“I … I thought you wouldn’t want to see me…” She murmured, ripping a piece of pita bread between long fingers.

“What? Why ever not my dear?” Aziraphale tore his eyes from her lips as she worried them between her teeth to focus on her words.

“I.. this is going to sound bloody stupid… I had a dream and you’d been gone for nearly a thousand years and then you came back and what happened happened and well….” 

“A dream?”

“A dream… that heaven was torturing you… I couldn’t see specifics but I heard the sounds of whips and your voice crying out… I don’t even know if it was some kind of vision or if my over tired brain just made up whatever excuse it could….” She trailed off admitting to the worry that had been gnawing at her. She wanted to believe the dream with every bone in her body, but in the darkest nights her doubts would whisper to her.

“I… I was being tortured but what does that have to do with you and how did you have a dream about that? And -” His mind was whirling, how could Crawly have visions of heaven? What did this mean?

She cut him off “I don’t know, I don’t think I ever will. And… I thought they were torturing you because of me, that it was my fault… Maybe heaven could smell demon on you or something! We spent 40 days together on the ark and then suddenly you’re gone and you come back and you look like you’ve been through hell and what… what was I supposed to think…” The pita bread was little more that pulp between her anxious fingers at this point. Her bottom lip reddened from being worried between her teeth.

He pulled her, couch and all, a little closer. “I was tortured,” He placed his fingers under her chin and turned her face to meet her eyes, “I was tortured but it was not your fault, it was because of the Nephelem. I did not sire any, but heaven was worried that more would be made. Every single angel that had ever set foot on Earth went through the… re-education process, as they called it. I was on Earth the longest, I got the worst of it. Gabriel was adamant that I needed the most of his attention because - ”

“Gabriel tortured you?” She cut him off, her already horrified expression growing tearful “The archangel gabriel…. How could he… but he was so sweet and kind how could he have ever…”

“You knew him before?” His voice was a touch sharper than he would have liked.

“We were…. Close…” She admitted.

The thought entered screaming into his head, was Crawly Barachiel before the fall? He couldn’t ask, but the thought of his lovely demon having been Gabriel’s mate in heaven made him furious. He wanted to demand answers but held himself in check, dampening his rage even as his body demanded he take the firebrand into his arms and possess them entirely, wipe away every memory of Gabriel’s ghost.

“You and he were..?” He couldn’t bring himself to finish it. If it was true he feared he might tear the archangel to shreds with his bare hands the next time he saw him. The thought of the firebrand beneath Gabriel, face twisted in passion had his nails digging into the meat of his palms. Angry crescents of red marking themselves into his flesh in his jealousy.

“He was my brother, Aziraphale.” Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at this, they were all siblings in a way so that statement meant little. “I’d rather not talk about it if that’s okay, but Gabriel was like a younger brother to me. I was told I indulged him too often, even his mate used to think so.” 

Ah, not Barachiel. He felt lighter with the realization. Though it did leave a prickling thorn in his mind, had Crawly had a mate before falling? If so, had they chosen to fall with the firebrand? Did Crawly still love them? He pushed that away for now.

Aziraphale nodded when he realized Crawly was still looking at him, he wasn’t sure what she’d seen on his face but her own softened and she reached out to pat his hand

“That is not to say I don’t believe you, I do. I’m just saddened to hear what's become of Gabriel. I am angry that he put you and the others through that, you did not deserve to bear the brunt of Gabriel’s misplaced negative emotions.” She began to pull her hand away but he covered it with his own. He tugged her off of her couch and onto his so that she sat beside him. It was a touch squished and their knees were pressed together. 

He brought the jug of wine to his lips and took a fortifying swig before pressing on. He’d had so much time to put his thoughts together and had failed to do so in a coherent manner, now that Crawly was before him all his thoughts and inner most musings came spilling out like a damn fit to burst.

“I think it is time I gave you the full picture of what heaven has done. I must tell you all that has changed within me, all the ways they have broken me down and all the things that have come to pass because their words have crawled into my home and carved their lovingly hateful home therein. I love them, heaven, and they love me. Is it wrong to think so? I think it rather must be when hate filled words and torturous pain are expressions of love. And yet, that is love in a way isn’t it? It’s love at its most violently passionate, desperate and jealous and selfish. It is unchecked fear that your loves will abandon you, desert you, and you’ll have naught but hollow memories slipping through your fingers like sand. The kind of love that brands itself unto your heart mercilessly, achingly painful and demands that you hold your loves in a vice like grip to you, that they may never leave your side. It is the kind of love that holds your loves tightly until they break from the pressure, a love that is suffocating and all encompassing. The kind that binds itself to your love until those bindings sink into raw flesh and the skin heals over them. This is heaven’s love. This is divine love. It is the only love I’ve ever known or felt. I can not even say that I would not have done as Gabriel did, because I do not know that I could have survived as he did and not ended up so much worse than he. Had I lost as he did, I might have torn asunder the very fabric of reality in my grief, I might have ripped Satan’s throat out with my teeth and slaughtered every Angel and Demon in my wake. I would have torn heaven apart brick by blessed brick and had God herself told me to leave my loves behind I might have rent her flesh in my fury. All this to say that, whilst I do not agree with heavens methods, I cannot truly fault them for it, but it has left me hollower than before. I lost so much of my desire to be among humans and it took so long to build even a fraction of it back up. What little enjoyment I can have is decades of effort put in to try to remove the apathy heaven forced upon me. What’s more is that it took so long to suppress physical reactions to demonic presence. I was ill nearly every time I went anywhere you had lingered but I forced myself to stay as long as I could. Now I can sit here, next to you, and I am nearly perfectly fine, but I’ve proven how easy it is to break and how readily I was able to hurt you,” His frown deepened and his grip on her soft hands tightened, “I hurt you. Shamefully I let my weakness get the better of me and nearly killed you. How could I ever live with myself if I snuffed your light out of existence? How could I ever even begin to repay all the wrongs I have done to you. I fully accept if you hate me, I could never begrudge you that,” he loosened his grip on her hands but kept them resolutely on his lap, “however, I could never simply stay away from you either. I would always be near, but I would leave you in peace if that is your wish.” He bent his forehead to press her hands against it “I could never begin to make up to you all the evil I did in my weakness. To know that in my darkest moment I might have killed you will be a shame I carry for eternity and I am so sorry, more than you could ever know.”

She took his head in her soft hands and raised his face to hers, thumb rubbing soothing circles on his cheek. 

  
“You could have killed me, smited me, discorporated me. You could have brought all of the heavenly host’s full wrath down on me. Instead you realized you’d injured me and sent me away so you wouldn’t do more. A mere broken wrist is nothing to us, we’re made of stronger stuff, you know that. In your darkest moments, you still chose to save me. You don’t ever have to apologize for that.” She raised a hand when he opened his mouth to speak, “It’s true, I saw it in my dreams. I saw your struggle and I saw you hold back to let me escape. Even a thousand years of torture couldn’t change your nature, and I admire your strength angel. You would never kill me unless you truly wanted to, heaven’s love or not.” 

He held the back of her hand and turned his face to kiss the palm of it, delighting in the flush that colored her skin.

“I will try to take your words to heart my dear.” He didn’t believe her, he couldn’t, but he wanted to. Oh so desperately. 

She nodded and moved to pull her hands away but he caught them in his and instead pulled her closer on the couch. He held both her hands in one of his and reached up to brush away a curl of ruby red. 

Their eyes locked and he was so tantalizingly close to the object of his lustful desires he could reach out and draw her up flush against him, let his hands wander her curves until they were intimately familiar with the map of her body, he could peel away the peplos and kiss every inch of skin if he so chose. He broke out of his reverie at the howl of a wolf nearby, the electric moment rapidly fading. Crawly had been leaning toward him and suddenly pulled back, her golden eyes darting away from his. He drew in a breath between clenched teeth and let her hands go. 

“Tell me all about your travels my dear.” He prompted as they scooted away from each other.

“Oh I have so many stories, but you’ll have to tell me about your journeys too angel, what were you even doing in all the places you went?”

They talked through the night, settling into a more polite level of familiarity. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Morning broke and the sound of song birds greeting the dawn pulled the slightly intoxicated immortals out of their bubble. They hurried to sober up and plan something.

“We can’t stay here.” Aziraphale affirmed, “and I certainly can’t leave you here to continue your doings. It will only draw more attention from heaven.”

“I can’t simply disappear either, it might affect how the villagers view their goddess and hell will put me through the ringer for that. They don’t expect me to stay here much longer but it was supposed to be something of a dramatic exit!”

“We must think of something, some way to leave that satisfies both sides.”

They threw out idea after idea until, finally, a spark of inspiration.

“The humans think you’re the god of death!” Crawly cried, standing from her couch

“Yes and?” 

“They have a festival to you in the winter, when all things die. They do poetry and stuff, they expect me to be less active because of the cold and being a fertility goddess and all that right?” She smiled wickedly.

“So we wait for the festival and what? Claim that I’m taking you away for the winter?”

“Or back to whatever realm the gods are from, it’s not like they walk among humans anyway.”

“Yes I suppose you’re right. When is this festival?”

“Usually the winter solstice, they have a big bonfire in the village.”

“That’s only a few days away, we can pretend to be gods for that long, you’ve been at it for months.”

The sound of approaching villagers caught their attention.

“I guess that’s the plan.” Crawly mused, pulling on her veil.

“No time for another.” Agreed Aziraphale.

They stepped outside and Aziraphale drew her up against his side, Hades and Persephone were married after all.

The village elder stepped forward and many other villagers bowed, some carrying big baskets filled his various offerings.

“Oh great lord and lady, we humbly make offering unto you and ask that you accept our modest goods. We give you the very best of our products as is fit for the gods.” He bowed deeply and those with baskets stepped forward to place them fully within Crawly’s courtyard.

Aziraphale straightened up and let a little divine will seep into his voice. “Hear me and know this humans, we accept your offerings and are pleased with them. They will serve us well when we return to our realm.”

The elder looked up “My lord, my lady, when do you intend to return? Will you stay with us until the solstice?”

“Yes, but we will leave after the solstice.”

“Then we will make this festival that is in your honor the greatest our village has ever held. We will sing the old poetry, make a great feast, and perform dances for you my lord and lady, please be our most honored guests at the festival.”

Crawly spoke, “We thank you for giving me a home for this time I have spent among you, know that Lerna will not be abandoned merely because we return to our realm. We will be happy to join you for your festival.”

The crowd pulled away and soon all that was left was baskets overflowing with food, wine, wool, and flowers.

They were miracled inside and the two supernatural entities returned to their previous lounging.

“I’d say that went better than expected Angel.”

“Quite.” Aziraphale reached for a bit of cooked lamb and hummed his appreciation for the juicy morsel as Crawly launched into a story about her time at sea.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Their short few days passed peacefully but somewhat tensely, they often caught themselves unsure of where their boundaries lay and erred on the side of caution and maintained a polite distance. Still, stories were told covering all the time they’d spent apart since Uruk and Crawly filled Aziraphale in on everything he’d miss whilst up in heaven. They talked in the garden while Crawly tended the plants, in the kitchen where they cooked together, or at the loom where Aziraphale taught Crawly how to weave with the skeins of wool the villagers had given her.

At night Crawly slept and though she’d tried cajoling him into it, Aziraphale did not. Instead choosing to spend the time reading what little literature he’d collected, as well as taking a private moment to enjoy the peaceful domesticity of it all as he watched Crawly’s sleeping form. Time flew by at a pace much too fast for either of their likings and before they knew it the villagers were at their door to guide them to the festival.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At the festival they saw the village decorated with as many of the last of the flowers they could collect, bright colored cloth hung from roofs, and there was a massive bonfire being lit as the sky darkened in the dusk. They were seated at a table alone, at the head of a formation where all the villagers could see them during the feast. Trays of food were laid out with roasted meats and vegetables, soups, bread, and fresh fruits. Casks of wine flowed easily and the world came alive in a blur of bright lights and music and mouth-watering aromas carried on the air.

Aziraphale made every excuse to play up the role of husband, if the humans did it, Aziraphale did it better. He fed Crawly by hand, watching intently as her pink lips closed around his fingers to accept whatever morsel of food he fed her, he especially took joy in feeding her pomegranate seeds and watching the juices stain her lips. Her wrapped an arm around her and kissed her soft cheek, he left his fingers tangle themselves in fiery locks.

Soon a man stood in the center of it all and the music changed. Rather than panflutes and aulos (greek flute) accompanied by timpanon (greek drum), a lyre began to play and the man began to sing poetry.

“Daughter of Demeter, almighty and divine, come blessed queen and to these rites incline:

Only-begotten, Hades’ honored wife. O venerable goddess, source of life.

‘Tis thine in Earth’s profundities to dwell, to command the gates of hell,

Demeter’s holy offspring, of a beauteous mein, Righteous with lovely locks o infernal queen,

Source of the furies, Queen of the underworld indeed, from secret begettings and holy seed,

Mother of many shaped Bacchus sonorous and divine, god of ecstasy and parent of the vine,

The dancing seasons attend thee with essence bright, all-ruling Persephone bearing heavenly light,

Illustrious, horned, of a bounteous mind, venerated by those of mortal kind.

Your holy form in budding flowers we view, Earth’s bounty of various hue,

Carried into your marriage bed in Autumn by your husband own, for wretched mortals life and death is known.

For thine the task according to thy will, life to produce and all that lives to kill.

Hear us, blessed goddess, send a bountiful increase, bring to bear our harvest fruits with lovely peace,

Send health with gentle hand, and crown all life with blessed abundance, free in peace from noisy strife.

When we grow old and grey, to you and Hades do we pray.

To dwell in thy fair kingdom and the blissful plains, in Elysium where happy spirits well and Hades reigns.” 

The singing fades away and many cheer. Aziraphale claps and stands from his spot beside Crawly.

“You have sung beautifully young man, you honor us with lovely words about my lovely wife.” He steps around the table, “If you would help me for a moment, away from prying ears, I’d like to speak with you.”

They draw away from the crowd and hushed whispers fill the air from the crowd. Their heads are bent together and at the end of it the man pulls away nodding eagerly.

Aziraphale takes his place in the center of the square and winks at Crawly, he takes a breath and begins to sing in the hauntingly ethereal voice of the heavenly choir.

“Eyes like burning embers on a moonless night, or rose cheeked dawn in the rising east, molten gold and drops of sunlight,

Her hair is wild fire dancing on the wind, a cascading river of blood like the Acheron, as soft as finest spun silk.

Lips so soft and sweet like honeyed milk, the color of rich pomegranate wine, curling around dark whispers of earthly delights,

Skin so smooth and pale like Asphodel flowers, perfumed with the heady scent of wild flowers and spices, sulphur and smoke, an unmarked canvas for a thousand letters of love

O dark and beautiful Persephone, this your Hades was struck, by Eros arrow,

Queen of the underworld, forever my bride, I give you all that is mine,

This, your Hades, does swear, you alone will be revered, first and foremost among the deathless gods. 

All will exalt you, adore and venerate you, when you give them the kiss of life or the embrace of death. 

Mother of all, most holy Persephone, your Hades is true in his words, 

So long as the gods are honored, you will be first among them.”

Aziraphale’s words trailed off with the final note of the lyre and in the stunned silence of the crowd; a cheering began for their god of death. He saw nameless emotions swirling in his demon’s eyes and took his seat beside her. She held his hand in hers as the festivities picked back up again.

In the years to come the people of Lerna often spoke of the loving aura surrounding the gods at the feast, the quiet love that filled their hearts watching the two sit beside one another. Some say Persephone rewarded her love with stolen kisses, some say Hades carried her in his arms at the end of the night. No one knows for sure, save a demon and an angel whose budding romance would later be claimed to have been set in motion by that fateful feast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem sang by the villager is the Opheric Hymn to Persephone. I took a few translations and made my own version. 
> 
> The poem sung by Aziraphale is my own attempt at a romantic love poem in Greecian style.
> 
> The festival of the winter solstice is the precursor to City Dionysia, a three day festival of Plays and Poetry. 
> 
> Music and sung poetry were a massive part of Greek life even outside of festivals.
> 
> The poetry is classical era but I'm using it here as we don't have any Mid-Helladic poetry, it likely has its roots in this time though the style might have been very different, but for the sake of having this here, we're going with it.


	13. The Calm Before the Typhoon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I wanted to thank all of you for being so very patient with me and to apologize to anyone I might have worried with my absence. I had a lot to deal with in these past months, and so this got left on the back burner. Writers block is not new to me, and I don't think it'll be the last time I struggle with it. I can't promise anything but I hope to update more regularly now that I have the summer to myself and the stress of getting into an M.A program behind me. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy
> 
> Shrikhand is an actually quite lovely dessert from India, though in its modern form it might only be as old as 400BC, the earlier incarnations whose names are unknown to me are said to have been a slightly more sour sort of yogurt. It wasn't always sugared either, and the smell of the fermentation could be unpleasant.

They leave Lerna behind that morning, miracling every Earthly possession into small traveling bags packed onto a white horse gifted to Aziraphale by the villagers. They are on the road well before the first rays of morning light warm the town. The pair make their way towards the coast, no real destination in mind beyond being away from the prying eyes of humans. A heavy silence settles over them now that the spell of the previous night has broken.

Crawly sits side-saddle at the front of the horse, Aziraphale behind her. He sits astride and envelopes her in his arms to hold the reins of the horse. She is pressed to his chest, her weight is a comfort. She’s safe, and right now that’s really all that matters to him. 

They stop around midday to give their horse a break and Crawly has brought a small amount of food with her for Aziraphale. It makes his heart tighten and he holds her hand in his for a moment before thanking her. 

The strained silence is unbearable for him, it feels cloying and stuffy. It presses down upon him and threatens to bow him under its weight. The cloth of his clothing clings like a hangman's noose around his neck, his lungs refuse to breathe in as though underwater, and nervous energy thrums in his veins.

He sets down the food, a bit more harshly than he intends, and molten gold eyes find their way to him. He huffs and before he can talk himself out of it, hauls the redhead into his arms and settles her into his lap. He takes a deep drag of her scent and buries his nose in her hair, her indignant yelp makes him chuckle and the feel of her there is so right and addicting and he fears he might not ever let go.

“Angel?” There’s a question in her voice and a hesitancy.

“Yes?” He makes no move to do anything else, content to bask in the feeling of her in his arms.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Crawly can’t make the words come out, doesn’t want to. She’s afraid, she isn’t ready for whatever this is to end. There is no hiding here. She’s flayed open for the world to see and she can’t take it. In the negative space of spoken words we give shape to unspoken things. To say anything at all will give shape to this thing and in its fragility, may shatter it. She swallows down the words clawing at her throat.

She says nothing and Aziraphale gives a pleased rumble deep in his chest when she settles deeper into his embrace. She lets her eyes drift closed, soaking up the warmth of the angel. This thing, whatever it is, is nourished by their silent embrace. It settles warm and fluttering like birds wings in their chests.

All too quickly they feel the noon day sun start to slide away, if they don’t hurry they won’t find a good campsite for the night. They as supernatural entities may not mind, but their horse is growing restless and soon enough more people will be traversing this road. Who breaks away first is unclear, but they stand and pretend to brush away wrinkles with hands that linger too long where other hands had rested moments ago.   
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aziraphale puts on the turban he’d worn in the deserts of Persia and tucks his hair away, he waves a hand and changes out his chiton with the Persian robes he’d worn on the boat ride here. He tugs on the black cloak given to him by the villagers, it turns white with a thought, and he hopes there will be no more of this Hades nonsense. He looks over to see that Crawly is a he now. His fiery red locks are swept up into a plaited braid, his black peplos is now a chiton, and he draws a dark forest green cloak around his shoulders. His chiton leaves long elegant calves bare to the world and Aziraphale’s gaze lingers there. 

“I don’t have any new orders at the moment. I am free to simply be for once.” He forces out after a moment, that same heavy nervousness begins to hang itself around his neck once more.

“No Gabriel to come thundering down with a slew of new orders?”

“Not anymore, Michael sent a note. Apparently heaven is going to be less hands on for now. They believe hell is prepping for something big so they’ve decided to start preparing as well. Whatever that means I’m not entirely sure.”

“Hell’s been on the ‘let them damn themselves’ train outside of encouraging generic sins. Encouraging paganism in the Mediterranean is sort of a vague order after all. I’d been considering heading into Crete or something. Maybe stop over in Mykonos first though, let this goddess business calm down.”

“Oh? Would you be confused for Persephone once more in Crete?”

“Not… necessarily…. but a goddess disappearing and a serpent priestess with red hair appearing not too long after in Crete? Sounds like asking for troublesome humans to pry into your history.”

“Serpent priestess?”

Crawly explains serpent priestesses as they walk. Aziraphale listens and throws in tidbits of similar things he’d seen in his own travels.   
Crawly describes how these serpent priestesses, possibly related to the ones from Mesopotamia albeit different in rites and mythos, perform rituals of fertility and cleansing for the women of Crete. He tells the angel of the Minoans’ fascinating progress with technology and their marvels of engineering.   
“These humans on Crete are well ahead of the rest. They’re somewhat mythic even in Anatolia.” He finishes just as they start to veer off the road and onto a small boar’s trail path. 

“It’s wonderful that they’re progressing so nicely, I hope they’ll be the spearhead of progress. I hear some of the angels under Jophiel are preparing for some big event to pass, perhaps it’s the birth of an inventor there?”

“Dunno angel, it’s possible. Any big shift in human knowledge garners their attention, regardless of if it is gain or loss. Maybe we’ll get lucky and the humans will forget how to make Shrikhand and we’ll never be subjected to that smell again.”

“Shrikhand is lovely!” Protested Aziraphale, “at least… the type with sugar dates and pistachios.”

“But the smell!”

“There isn’t too terrible of an odor?”

“Ugh, for *you* maybe” He pulls a face and wrinkles his nose and Aziraphale simply can not help himself and laughs at the cute demon. 

They continue for a while, speaking about various things and places they’d like to experience. It’s a little easier, just this. Talking and sharing stories. He can almost pretend there isn’t some twisted voice deep in the recesses of his mind whispering horrible things. He can almost ignore when his mind conjures images of Crawly in Mesopotamia, on his knees and in tears.   
‘Exactly as he should be’ It coos. The image blurs, Crawly still on their knees but now in the dress of an Egyptian priestess. Again, but in her black peplos. It shifts further, and the firebrand is tied up like an Egyptian slave. 

Almost. 

He fights to keep the smile on his face, to keep his attention on Crawly’s words. He wraps the voice in chains and banishes it to the furthest reaches of his mind. He can almost pretend it doesn’t exist.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
They’ve been walking for some time when Crawly stops dead in his tracks, his eyes glassy and unfocused. Aziraphale calls his name but the serpent seems too far gone. The angel begins to panic when long moments stretch into minutes. 

When Crawly comes to it is a nearly crushing relief. 

“Ngk, I hate to do this angel….” His voice is reluctant, and full of something Aziraphale can’t quite place.

“What’s wrong dear?”

“Hell’s got an assignment for me after all.” There’s a half hearted attempted at mischief in the way he says it/

“They… were giving you an assignment? How?” The thought bothered Aziraphale, that hell could simply… reach out and force Crawly to listen to their vile voices.

“They just… talk into my brain, doesn’t heaven do the same?”

“No, heaven tends to send messengers with notes. Else they might send a messenger with a verbal message but that is usually reserved for more ah… delicate.. missions.”

Crawly nods after a moment, a contemplative look on his face.

“So, this mission?” 

“Nothing big Angel, just a temptation on a minor king. I’ll see you after, yeah?” Crawly cracked a smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes and looked entirely too false.

Aziraphale swallowed back the comment and forced a smile. “I see, well as you said. We can catch up somewhere when you’re done.” 

The scent of sulfur tickled his nose and with a snap the demon was gone. Aziraphale’s shoulders sagged, finally letting his body rest. His corporation still couldn’t handle so much Crawly at once it seemed, regardless of what his mind wanted. His thoughts turned sour with his mood, what was he doing? Lust or not, Crawly was a demon. What did it matter that they were the most undemonic demon that had ever roamed the Earth? (or the only one) What did it matter that he’d done no harm to humans and seemed kinder than literal angels. Hell was their master and Crawly could not disobey whatever evil things they asked of him. 

Could he simply sit back and allow it?

Crawly was so tight lipped about this assignment… what horror could it be? Would the firebrand return to him, a murder of men? Could he really sit beside him knowing that? 

Yes. The answer was so immediate that part of his mind recoiled against the thought of even questioning it. The demon was his, stained broken or bloodied. Nothing and no one would ever take them away from him. Something dark settled hard in his heart, and his mind whispered that not even Crawly could keep him away now. 

He shoved the thought away roughly. Crawly would always, always, have that choice. No matter what twisted thoughts screwed with his head.


	14. Ruin Begets Ruin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ilu-Shuma was in fact the 32nd king of Assyrian Babylon, not much is known about him other than that he was the king who routed the invading Amorites. His line would fight against them for nearly 200 years before the Amorites would eventually settle their own kingdom. The Amorites would one day give rise to a great king, King Hamurabi. Maybe Crawly will meet Hamurabi some day.
> 
> Some references to knife play.
> 
> Things will start to darken hereafter.

1975 Assyrian Babylonia- The deathbed of Ilu-shuma, 32nd King of Assyria. 

Crawly had been waiting for this moment. His eyes watched the final desperate breaths of a dying old king. He heard the prince, soon to be king, Erishum as he proclaimed himself to be the beloved of the God Ashur and the Goddess Ishtar, to whom his father had lovingly built a temple.

‘His father hasn’t even drawn his last breath yet.’ He’d thought idly.

All that really mattered was that Ilu-Shuma would die. As soon as the king drew his last breath Crawly would be free to leave this palace. 

A wrinkled hand grabbed his, the strength was pitiful compared to what it once was but still unkempt nails tried to bite into his skin. Crawly looked down at the old man, his shuddering breath sounded like wheezing laughter and Crawly wondered if this man might die smiling.

“A girl, captain. With heavy breasts this time.” The voice shook and creaked, though no less righteously imperious. 

“You’re dying old man. Let it go. You’d be dead before she got here.”

“You must bring me a girl. I demand it.” The problem with fools like Ilu-Shuma was that they simply did not know when to quit. Instead he drew his hand away and ignored the half dead king. He doubted that even Ilu-Shuma could have the strength to fuck some slave girl on his deathbed anyway. 

Four years he’d pretended to be the captain of the old man’s guard. Four years he’d whispered into his ear to keep fighting the Amorites, to route them and drive them out of Babylon. Four years he’d been forced to play the loyal guard dog and all that it entailed. Four years he’d been forced to watch this man take his pleasures in ways he’d never even thought possible. Watched him tie up partners, beat them, and make them beg for more rather than mercy. Four years he’d stood guard during loud orgies and wild parties. 

Ilu-Shuma’s lust might have been the very best thing about this man. At least no one was ever permanently injured. Some of his partners even truly enjoyed themselves and their lustful energies would mix with his, a cocktail of power for Crawly. He’d never felt stronger than those moments. 

The rest of him was merely human, greedy and desirous. He was a king, he wanted nothing but more power for his kingdom. His ambitions were easy to leverage against him, very little was needed for Crawly to truly tip the scales. He would never know that his ambitions for the greatness of his country would lead to its ruin. Bloody and brutal wars against the invading Amorites had been hell’s goal and like dominoes falling one soul after another would be swallowed up by what was to come. Nearly two centuries of war and hate would follow. Some kings would be better, some worse, but none would escape the cycle of pain for at least that long. That was what hell had proclaimed at least. 

He could have left, he supposed, the king’s soul would be on it’s way just fine without him. However, Lucifer himself had sent the message. Had told him to stay with Ilu-Shuma until his death, to watch him each and every moment of his life. He didn’t care to find out how his brother’s temper had become after centuries as the ruler of hell. That he was afforded this much freedom was already a great gift of his brother’s benevolence. 

So he watched the old man draw his last breath. Watched his soul begin to leave its mortal coil. In that moment he saw the fall of Assyria. He could see the chain that linked this king to his kind. They would fall, it would be his fault. He could see the gears set in motion by this king. They seemed inescapable now. Yet no one would ever know, humans were too small and short lived to appreciate the greater span of time and its consequences. 

Crawly’s heart ached in his chest. How many people would fall in this chain of dominoes? He pushed it from his mind for now. Something else tugged at his mind, and his lips quirked down. It’d also been four years since he’d seen the angel. He walked down the palace hallways, what would he say? He didn’t really have a clue. How honest could he be without Aziraphale growing to hate him? 

He thought back to their talk in Lerna, Aziraphale had said he could never stay away. Crawly had taken it to heart without question. Now doubt began to worm its way into him, could his angel forgive him for what he had done? Would Aziraphale look at him with hatred in his eyes? 

He’d never had to do something quite so… personal… before. His assignments had always been general and vague. There was always enough wiggle room for the humans to crawl their way back into the light. However, this was different. He’d personally helped push this human over the edge, even if he’d been bound to go that way regardless; he’d helped ensure a long lasting lineage of strife that was sure to follow. 

He felt filthy. He felt off balance and wrong. He’d never wanted this. 

Mechanically he picked up his small rucksack that he’d come into the palace with and made his way to the king’s chambers of pleasure. He remembered a girl, was she still in the palace? She’d gone into the chamber with nothing but pain, somehow that pain was taken away from her in this room. If only for a little while. She’d walked out with scars on her flesh, but the one on her soul seemed a little lighter. 

It gripped him with a thought. He moved to a specific drawer he recalled and pulled out the lovely ceremonial dagger. Offerings of sexual energy to Ishtar, is how Ilu-Shuma had described it to him once. He’d said it in such a reverent tone, there was no doubt that he fully believed that this space and these acts were sacred and sanctioned.

He wondered if that girl had found some salvation in this knife dedicated to a goddess of sex and war. Wondered if that was why she sighed in contentment when it sliced her skin.

His grip on the dagger tightened, he could crush it in his hand if he wanted, but something stopped him. Some deep hungering need. 

He stuffed the dagger in his bag and disappeared from the palace.


	15. The Fourth, The Fifth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Things are going to start getting a little darker, we're getting into self hatred and self loathing.  
2\. Beer used to be a beverage the consistency of a slightly thin porridge, usually drunk through a straw in Mesopotamia so as to avoid the herbs and bits of bread left in the drink from the fermentation process.

Crawly drank in deep droughts, as if he could breathe the beer. Pulling the thick beverage through the straw as fast as the infernal thing would allow. The consistency of thin porridge, it was not his favorite thing to drink, but right now he wanted nothing but to drink and forget. 

He motioned the tavern keeper for a refill, what was it now, six? Seven? It didn’t matter. He could still feel the edges of his soul prickling and he just wanted the voice in his head whispering vicious thoughts to him to shut up.

He heard the laughing voices of young men playing some game or other, nattering on about the war. He banged his head on the counter in front of him. How many men had he sent to their deaths? How many mothers had to mourn their children because of him? How many would die in the next _two centuries_? 

He felt his skin crawl, his essence itched like his body was the wrong fit. He’d been a _healer_ damn it! He didn’t want people to _die_! He’d given life to all things on earth that _weren’t_ human! (Or at least over saw their creation) He never wanted to fall. He never thought he would be cast from her light. And for what? What had he done?

‘You’re a failure of an archangel,’ the voice whispered, ‘she loved you all so very much. How bad of a fuck up do you need to be, to be cast out of her light. She was literally made of love.’ 

He raked back his hair, tugging roughly through the strands in frustration and self loathing. His head was spinning as the alcohol chugged away in his system. Giving that fucking voice more power and achieving the exact opposite of what he’d wanted. It taunted him, dragged the things he was most ashamed of out into the light of his consciousness and mocked them. 

Unforgivable, that’s what he was. He was nothing but a tainted filthy thing. Broken and ugly and hateful. 

‘You’re not good enough, you can’t do anything. Couldn’t cut it as an angel, can’t cut it as a demon.’ The voice hissed. ‘Nobody needs or wants you. She tossed you out like garbage and Lucifer sent you away so you couldn’t fuck anything up further. Your beloved brother could hardly wait to kick your worthless ass out.’ 

Shut up, shut up, shut up! He didn’t want to hear it, he couldn’t stand to hear it. Tears stung his eyes and he stood up roughly. Blindly staggering through the city. Away from the people. Away from anything he could curse or taint with his filth. His rotten core was a poison, choking the innocence out of everything he touched. 

Memories flashed in his drunken wallowing; every whisper laced with dark magic pushing for war, every temptation woven into his words, every goading prod encouraging vice and greed. He wondered how many years he’d shaved off Ilu-Shuma’s life, pushing him into the arms of his vices. Wondered how many drug hazed decisions had pushed this kingdom into debt, death, and despair. 

A different memory burned in his mind, that damned girl. Pain and hatred rolled off of her in waves, the scent of it sickly sweet. But the way she sighed and sang under that knife… the way her soul brightened and the scent of it mellowed. She shined like the brightest star in his memory, tied up in soft ropes and at the mercy of the king, yet in that moment Crawly could swear she was divine. If gods existed it was there in that moment. She was blinding and he buried the thought with anger. Why did _she_ deserve to shine like that? Why was her soul allowed to burn bright with divinity when it had been ripped straight out of him? 

His lips curled into a sneer. It wasn’t fair, he thought defiantly.

‘Except that it is. She deserves it. She was good enough. She was beautiful. Not like you.’ The voice mocked. 

He punched a tree with bile in his throat, the pain bloomed on his knuckles and the voice faltered. He slammed his fists into the rough bark of the tree with wild abandon. 

STUPID. WORTHLESS. HATEFUL. MONSTER.

The words echoed and silenced in turn until the skin of his knuckles was torn and bleeding. He watched the blood drip from his fingers. 

** _Beautiful_ **

He suddenly remembered the dagger in his bag. Remembered the silver glint of its blade dripping in ruby red blood. The thought swirled in his head, intoxicating. Need settled in his stomach. He _wanted._ Wanted to feel what that girl felt, would he shine like her?

The disjointed thread of his thoughts quieted as he contemplated it. He swallowed roughly, anticipation thrumming in his veins.


	16. The Minor Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Depiction of Non-Suicidal Self Harm. Read with care.
> 
> Crawly is an immortal demon, we are mere humans with very limited precious life.

The cold tip of the blade pierces his skin with a wet squelching pop, dragging through his yielding flesh. Blood, hot and slick, gushes like spilled wine down his thigh. A shuddering sigh escapes him. A calm like nothing he’s known since the fall sweeps over him. His nerves sing with the pain and electricity arcs down his spine. 

The hole in his soul is numb and the blissful pain in his body silences the worst of his vicious thoughts. He digs the steel deeper, hacking through muscle now. It’s almost too sweet, the pain pushes him toward some unknown, his thoughts are hazy and all he can think of is how much he wants more. 

He looks down some moments later. His thighs are flayed open, and a deranged thought crosses his mind. He prods the jagged edges of his open wound, he certainly hadn’t been careful. His crazed thoughts wonder dully if he can bleed away his sins. He wonders how much blood he must shed to feel lighter, like her.

He feels a prickling on his spine that he doesn’t understand. Everything starts to come into sharp focus too fast. It’s too fast and feels like hurtling. His heart is trying to claw its way out of his chest, he can’t breathe, tears well in his eyes and fall on his wounds, stinging their raw edges. His wings are on fire and he drags them onto the material plane to prove that they aren’t burning all over again. His body doesn’t care what evidence he has, he’s crashing and he doesn’t know how to stop.

He howls his agony and beats his fists into his gorey lacerations. He can feel the abused nerves cry out anew as his hands stain themselves in his blood. He can’t move his legs and he can’t think or speak or do anything more. Like a wounded animal his cries resonate as blood pools in scarlet puddles beneath him. 

  
  


Eventually darkness overtook the demon, his corporation unable to stay conscious with so little blood.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aziraphale had hung around the outskirts of Assyria for a few days now. He’d managed to figure out that Crawly was here, where exactly he wasn’t sure, but that hardly mattered. The way they’d parted had left a sour note in his mouth and he was determined to set it straight. He was in the process of figuring out where exactly Crawly was. He’d been trying to collect intelligence.

He felt the demon’s presence flicker out of existence.

It was only for a moment but the pit of his stomach dropped and dread filled his body. He stretched out his aura as far as he could, moving nearly blind through the city as he focused on the energy that threatened to be snuffed out. He snapped his wings into reality and urged them to fly faster and faster.

He felt anger rising in him, whatever or whoever had tried to snuff out his firebrand would pay dearly. 

He smelled the scent of death before he saw it. The hooded figure stood above the collapsed figure of his demon. He pushed forward through the canopy of trees, a growl threatening to escape his throat. His hands clenched into fists. 

“AZRAEL! GET AWAY FROM HIM!” He snarled, wings poised to tackle the Angel of Death. The figure looked back with an unending gaze. Death regarded his stance for a moment before indicating that he would not interfere. However, he did not leave. Merely made room for Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale rushed forward to turn Crawly over, the sight before him nearly made him wretch. Crawly’s thighs were sliced open, the edges jagged and rough. He could see bone under all the drying blood. 

He pushed aside all other thoughts, tried to evaluate rationally. First thing was first, he ripped his tunic and bound the wounds. Making sure the wrappings were tight, he considered his options. He’d never healed Crawly before, would his holy energy do more harm than good?

He didn’t know enough of human medicine to treat him that way. 

If Crawly discorporated would he ever be allowed to return?

He pulled out the water skin he’d had on him and pressed it to the red head’s lips. It seemed to help a little, Crawly swallowed the water and made a small sound of pain. 

Right, not in the forest at least. He gathered up the demon like a fragile ember, he miracled them into his inn room and carefully set him down. A small test would be best, he thought. He knew holy water would destroy Crawly, but he wasn’t sure about the magic. They were made from the same celestial matter and his magic had never hurt Crawly before. None of the things he’d miracled into existence were blessed or had any sort of holiness to them. It was worth a shot.

Aziraphale settled for the torn skin on the demon’s hand and willed it to heal. Crawly groaned in pain but not much else. There had been no burning or sizzling, and discomfort with magical healing was normal. They were pushing flesh and blood bodies to repair themselves rapidly.

He willed the gaping wounds to knit themselves together, tried desperately to ignore the moans of pain that Crawly panted out. He shuts his eyes and focuses only on making Crawly whole. 

Minutes pass and he finally opens his eyes. He looks down at the blood stained skin of Crawly’s thighs, they were perfect. Not even a mark remains, but every time he blinks all he can picture are those gaping wounds. He foregoes blinking all together. The skin is unblemished, but he knows that’s only half the battle. He wills into existence a bowl of stewed lamb, Crawly may not be able to eat and chew but the nutritious broth will give him strength and Aziraphale spoons it into his mouth. Silent prayers spilling from his lips, not to god but to Crawly. To come back to him.


	17. The Major Lift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Characters spiraling, falling into an unhealthy headspace.

Crawly wakes up some time later, his voice is horse and he feels dizzier than he expected. His eyes scan the room, Aziraphale isn’t there but he can feel him nearby. He can’t tell where exactly, but he imagines the angel must be in the building. He drags a hand down along his face. He can feel frustration and irritation building. He realizes Aziraphale must have found him, thighs flayed open and covered in blood. He’s not sure why but the thought ticks him off. Another thought, more urgent and pressing. What happened to the wounds? To his hard won bleeding? He yanks the sheets off of him, roughly pushing away the robe Aziraphale must have put on him.

No scars, not so much as a mark. Not a single thing to show for his suffering. As if it had never happened.

‘What right did _he_ have to take away his scars. What _right_ did he have to come here and interfere.’ He seethes. His fists come down in a mirror or his last moments of consciousness. He beats his thighs in fury, a strangled scream ripping out his throat. 

He pulls at his hair in desperation, sobbing and sneering at once.   
  
‘Those were _my _scars. They were _mine_!’ The thought howls in his head. 

He whips his head up towards the door when the angel walks in, his teeth are bared and a growl rumbles in his chest. Aziraphale stops short, staring at the demon slack jawed.

“Crawly,” Aziraphale starts.

“YOU TOOK MY SCARS! YOU BASTARD!” Crawly roars at the top of his lungs. “GET OUT! GET OUT RIGHT NOW!” He grabs the nearest thing at hand, a cup of beer, and flings it at the door, shattering it against the wall. 

Aziraphale looks ready to fight him, and Crawly relishes it. He wants it more than anything right now. He sits up more fully, getting ready to stand, when Aziraphale drops his stance and walks out the door.

“I’m going for a walk. We will discuss this when I get back.” He calls out over his shoulder. A plate shattering against the door is his only response.

Crawly punches the bed below him with screams and curses spilling from his lips, his wings snapping into existence to wrap around his form as he descends into wracking sobs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aziraphale only meant to walk for a few minutes, to let whatever frustrations plagued Crawly work themselves out.

Minutes melted into hours. Anger and worry clinging to one another, rising to the top in turn, a thread of possessiveness woven into them.

‘How _dare_ he do this to himself. How dare he!’

‘Why did he do it, what’s _wrong_’

‘If hell is behind this I will go down there and tear it apart with my _bare hands_’

‘If he wants pain. I will give him **pain**.’

The last thought curls in his belly, soothing some dark edge in his mind. Feels the dark thing in his mind writhe in anticipation. 

‘You could give him pain, leave pretty bruises on his perfect skin, bring pretty tears to his eyes, make him bleed such pretty blood. And he will **never **be able to take himself away from us with his recklessness.’ The twisted voice coos to him, paints such beautiful images of Crawly covered in his marks. Crawly tied up and at his mercy. Crawly in a gilded cage far away from anything that might try to take the demon away from him.

He shakes his head, tries to banish the thoughts. 

‘It’s not right, he isn’t a _thing_ to be hidden away,’ he protests in his mind, ‘he has every right to make his own decisions.’

‘Even if those decisions make him do _this_?’ The voice challenges. 

He forces himself to bury the thoughts, making his way back to the room. He does not expect to find the demon wrapped up in his own wings, passed out again with tear tracks on his cheeks. He wipes them away with his thumb, heart aching.

“What happened my dear? What’s wrong?” Aziraphale murmurs, resolving then and there, he won’t leave no matter what. Crawly was not in a good state of mind and they needed to talk about it. It was the right thing to do.

At least… he hoped he was doing the right thing by insisting on this. He hoped he wasn’t making excuses to placate his own dark needs.


	18. Learning to Function

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone unfamiliar with BDSM and kink play, and for my own sanity to be sure I’m upfront and transparent. 
> 
> This is how *not* to do kink.
> 
> We don’t play when we’re in a bad headspace, we don’t play with hard physical limits, and we never ever forget to administer aftercare. These things can lead to serious trauma and issues. Moreover if one isn’t careful with physical limits it can do permanent damage.
> 
> After play most people will experience a ‘drop’, your body trying to return to baseline after the endorphin high, and it can make you sad. Top or sub anyone can face it, after care is there to gentle your descent as you come down. Whether you play with people or solo make sure it is established that you *will* receive proper aftercare. If you’re a top or the person who is most lucid after play, don’t forget to pay attention to your own needs too. Make sure you will also be taken care of in turn. It’s okay!
> 
> For some the drop can be really intense, and feelings like guilt, self loathing, sadness, and loneliness are all common, sometimes the drop can turn violent, especially if you weren’t in a good headspace when you started. You’ll find yourself angry and upset, you won’t fully get why but it happens. 
> 
> So please practice good play. Remember the golden rule. Safe, Sane, and Consensual.

Aziraphale did his best to position Crawly into a more comfortable position, drawing a blanket over the demon’s sleeping form. Whenever his hand lingered on Crawly, the firebrand seemed to lean into it even in sleep. Eventually he dragged a stool over to the bed and simply sat beside his demon. He held the other’s hand, his thumb making soft circles on Crawly’s knuckles. 

He talked, the whole time Crawly slept. He talked and talked, he wasn’t really paying attention to what he said, only that he kept talking. He spoke soft soothing words, recited the poem he wrote in Lerna, he told Crawly they were beautiful in every incarnation, and he hoped. He hoped it made some difference to the sleeping firebrand. 

He must have talked for hours, his voice began to grow hoarse, when finally, _ finally _, Crawly began to stir.

Molten eyes blinked at him, before turning down towards the covers. Thin fingers twisted the sheets and Crawly looked so lost and sad that all Aziraphale could do was drag the demon into a hug.

“You’re okay, it’s okay, we’re okay.” He murmured softly, a hand petting fiery red hair. Thin arms encircled his waist and he felt the shuddering sigh that escaped his demon. They sat intertwined for somebody only knows how long. Aziraphale dropped soft kisses at the crown of Crawly’s head and buried his nose in ruby curls to catch his scent. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eventually Crawly brings his hands to the Angel’s chest, pushing a little to break them apart. He feels guilt weighing him down like a stone.

“Angel I-” The words clog in his throat, he doesn’t even really know what to say. “I- I’m sorry I…” His voice dies again and frustration begins to mount. Frustration that he can’t string sentences together, frustration that he can’t even tell what he feels, never mind trying to get control over those feelings. 

Aziraphale tips his chin up with strong fingers. “Are you okay?” He asks, with such sincerity and concern that it sends a pang through Crawly’s heart and he lets out a soft whine.   
  
“I don’t know.” It’s the truth, he owes the angel that much. He doesn’t have a fucking clue. 

“It’s okay not to know. Do you want to talk about what happened?” Aziraphale leaves the decision to him, not pushing or forcing.

Crawly licks his lips and mulls it over, before nodding. “I think so.”

“Tell me what happened?” Aziraphale’s hand moves from his chin to his cheek, thumb rubbing the apple of it. His palm is warm and comforting.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aziraphale tamps down any urge to demand or push or force. He doesn’t let the darker part of him gain footing here, not when Crawly looks so fragile… so breakable. He soothes his own desires with all the touches he wants, Crawly leans into them and he feels that same pleased sense of rightness, seeing his demon curl into him.

He refrains from kissing the demon or pushing the demon down onto the bed to wrap around him bodily as the twisted voice suggests, kinder than Aziraphale expected it to be, but he grants himself more liberties with their touch and closeness. Crawly is still mostly in his lap.

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“Angel ... I … I did a terrible thing. I don’t know if… if you’ll want to stick around after you hear it.. I don’t even want to stick around myself.” It’s hard, much harder than he wishes it were, to talk about it. He almost wants Aziraphale to decide against it.

“Tell me, I promise I’ll still be here.” The hand on his cheek rubs soothing circles on his face. 

Crawly shakes his head. “Don’t make promises before you know if you can keep them.”

“I will still be here.” The angel reaffirms.

Crawly launches into everything he’d done at the palace for the past four years, underscoring every terrible thing as if trying to push the angel away. 

‘Look at the monster I am angel, look!’ 

He goes into detail about every awful temptation, every forceful push toward sin, he throws every death in Aziraphale’s face, he’d memorized the number of people who died each day during his four years. He throws hell’s plans and the war into the angel’s face. He goes into special detail about acquiring slave girls and everything Ilu-Shuma did to them. Especially _her_, the bright one as he’d called her in his head. He’d never learned her name after all. His words became so much less pointed, they took on an almost reverent tone when he talked about her. It’s… difficult… but it gives him the jumping off place to talk about the wounds. How he’d been drinking, how much he felt he wanted, no, _needed_ that. He couldn’t find better words and his attempts felt clumsy, he heard his own words and they sounded so pitiful compared to the gravity of what he’d felt. He hadn’t realized when he’d grabbed hold of Aziraphale’s hand but he clung to it now with force.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aziraphale rarely felt stupid, but he felt stupid now. He’d failed to realize just how _much_ the firebrand was suffering, how much pain Crawly had been in. He could see it now, crystal clear, in the words Crawly used to describe his involvement. It seemed to pain him, more than anything, that humanity was suffering. Aziraphale knew Crawly was, at heart, kinder than he pretended to be. The ark alone had proven that. Yet, it struck him that he hadn’t quite realized the intensity of Crawly’s love for these humans. He doubted Crawly fully realized it either. He wondered if perhaps in heaven, Crawly had worked to prepare for the humans? Maybe he felt some lingering sense of protectiveness?

To be forced to become the antagonist, the villain, the cause of human strife seemed to weigh on Crawly more than he’d ever let on. He thought back to their first meeting, and felt a greater fool for not realizing that Crawly must carry guilt for his actions, even if he claimed he’d set the humans free with knowledge.

But then, Crawly’s words took a turn as he began to describe Ilu-Shuma’s sexual pleasures. Though the demon focused on his part in acquiring slave girls, it was the acts that enraptured Aziraphale. Everything his twisted voice had whispered to him and _more_ were in the details of Crawly’s life as a guard. It stirred the interest of his hunger and the voice replaced the unknown king and his faceless slave girls with himself and Crawly. Crawly, male or female, in various different garbs he’d admired the demon in. 

At first he tamped them down, tried to focus on the feelings that Crawly was conveying, it worked for the most part, until Crawly began describing a girl he called the bright one. Suddenly, like a dam breaking, all of Aziraphale’s darkest desires surged to the forefront of his mind as he saw the look of pure need and want that adorned Crawly’s face. He wanted it, the thing inside him cooed and cajoled.

‘Our pretty demon wants you to do it.’ It whispered.

Then, he felt Crawly’s hand wrap around his arm as he launched into how he’d come to be in a forest with thighs sliced open, dying on the ground where Aziraphale found him.

It stopped him cold, the voice loudly urging him into proposing his solution. It was damn near gleeful and giddy how the voice poked and prodded, promising they could take good care of the demon if only he was willing to say the words.


End file.
